The mouse incident part II: Mouse meets gym bag

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Well, it happened again. I was getting ready for work in the morning, when I heard a scream followed by heavy breathing from the husband, coming from downstairs.  I heard no large crash, so I assumed that there was no immediate injury, but I shouted, "Are you okay?"  "Yes..." was the response.  So I shout, "What is the matter?"  "I don't want to tell you."  Uh oh, that only means one thing.  Mouse incident.

So I have never heard the hubs scream quite like that, but I suppose anyone would when you find a LIVE MOUSE IN YOUR GYM BAG.  After careful investigation, it was determined that the mouse was most interested in the trail mix as a food source.  I am not sure how he sniffed that out over the gym bag smell, but I have underestimated them before.  The next question, I know, is why does one have trail mix in their gym bag.  Even worse, neither of us knew where the mouse ran off to.  Hopefully not my nice shoe collection.

We had left some of the cabinets open in the house to ensure the pipes stayed warm enough, and we discovered new weaknesses in the fortress.  We handily spent another several hours of our lives filling every possible point of entry into the house.  Our teamwork to blindly fill the hole behind the dishwasher was a true testament to marriage.  I also learned that apparently, the mice are partial to peanut butter cups, and their preferred location for eating them is behind the dishwasher.  Well, that shit is solved.

Dishwasher lair

As an alternative viewpoint, my friend mentioned that maybe the mice were like Cinderella's mice, and they would help clean the house.  And now I am sort of sad that we couldn't have been better friends, the mice and me.  But if their activities so far are any indication, they weren't interested in being magical, sewing me a dress for the ball, or driving me to work in a pumpkin carriage.  So, they are out.

Mice - 2, Me - 0.  Well played.