The Day I Vacuumed Up A Mouse

Friends, I have so much to tell you.

Like how we woke up to SNOW yesterday morning (this morning too!) and how we played and froze and I couldn't believe how freaking cold it was.

See? So FUN.

And also awful.

Additionally, I need to tell you that buying a house is quite possibly one of the most unpleasant things I've ever participated in. Seriously. I *think* we're over the hump of hideousness but, really, I don't know. I mean, it's awful. Poor Derek is all on his own doing the work, and that makes me feel bad.

But, truthfully, today, I am here to tell you that yesterday, I vacuumed up a mouse.

Yes, our vermin is still with us. He's getting bolder too, dashing out whenever it gets even a little quiet around here (so,  no not that often). I've been within inches of him, and sad to say, he's rather cute. I don't know that I can be a party to his death at this point. We've bonded. And I yell at him when he shows his nasty little face. Things like, "Have enough respect to wait until I leave the room before you pop out!" Things like that.

In no time at all, we'll be very best friends.

So, yesterday, after a snack of popcorn, naturally the living room needed vacuuming. I was running the hose along the underside of the couch. THE couch that i know our little fuzzy friend hangs out under... anyway, I was running the hose along, gathering popcorn kernels when I heard a dull THUMP.

The vacuum immediately lost suction. I immediately lost my shiz.

I waited a moment, the whatever-I-vacuumed-up-probably-a-mouse stayed clogged for a second and then zoomed up the tube where it got lodged again, somewhere in the internals of the vacuum cleaner.

I shut off the vacuum and decided to die.

I mean what else could I do? I had just vacuumed up a mouse. Most likely, it was now mortally wounded, and stuck in somewhere. How would I get it out? What if it WASN'T mortally wounded and GOT ON ME when I was trying to save it? What if it was dead? And bloody?

WHAT IF IT HAD RUINED MY VACUUM?

It's a Dyson people. I have my priorities here.

I desperately wanted someone to come and rescue me and my poor faithful vacuum, who's end was seemingly brought about by a mouse.

DAMN MOUSE!

So I listened closely to the vacuum to see if anyone was squeaking. No one was. I pulled the hose taut to SEE if anyone was wedged uncomfortably within. Nope.

That meant it was SOMEWHERE inside. Oh, what if I took the hose off and the mouse sprang out at me, intent on revenge?

This was all very terrifying. I crouched down by the canister, my heart in my throat, terrified that I was going to see maimed mouse bits all mixed with popcorn and dog hair.

It wouldn't be pretty, that much I knew.

I swallowed my terror. I am 29 years old. I am a grown up. I have no husband to come save me.

My mommy and daddy were both at work.

I was alone.

I searched one side of the filthy canister.

Nothing.

Trepidation gripping me, I swung around to search the other side.

Then. I saw it.

The THING that had caused my vacuum clog. The THING that was giving me an honest-to-goodness heart attack.

Right there. Stuck firmly between the wall of the canister and the filter:

It was a baby wipe.