...
Who has found a way into my house. He comes in a few times a week and raises a racket, trying to turn something into food, or trying to store food, or whatever the fuck is on his pea brain.
I'm just hoping he's a he, because if he's a she, I could be in for it.
Anyway, he kept me up all night. He rounded up all the mouse enticements I had hidden in certain spots to lure mice to their deaths, and, being too big to get to the deadly goodies inside the little hard plastic mortuaries, he's taken to banging the shit out of them in his — I do so hope — ultra-manly-yet-still-futile effort to pig out.
He stays on the floor, doesn't climb up on anything, but suddenly my mouse mortuaries are popping up like Lego pieces you step on in the dark. Not optimal, I'm sure you will agree.
So any of you who may be deploring the demise the Hackmans and the state of their abode... ahem... they were NOT hoarders. They were OLD. You do not notice how much comes in and goes out of your house until you get old and very sore and it starts piling up.
Similarly, it becomes increasingly difficult to find, to get to, places where mice and rats can gain access to your rodent riviera of a home. Yes, they certainly could have afforded help, but, being extremely famous people, probably didn't want the public to catch wind of their state of helplessness.
So, they kept on until they couldn't.
Argh.
pipe up any time....
