It may as well have been a lion. Or rattlesnake. Or armed robber.
I hate mice. I am afraid of mice. They are just slippery little varmints.
And they are so teeny tiny and I loom so large above them, but what they don't know is they are more powerful than anything in my presence.
So when I came home in between two scheduled events I decided I would park my car in the drive and NOT open the garage door, since that is where the mouse is currently living. So I walked to the front door and put my key in the lock and it didn't work. I tried again. And again. I dropped everything I was holding with each insertion of the key and the door would not budge.
Drat! I had to go back and open the garage door and enter my house.
Fortunately the mouse stayed tucked wherever he is hiding and I gingerly walked with my head turning as close to 360 as I could get it to rush into the house.
My husband came home looking to serve him his eviction papers. I didn't care how he would exit (the mouse), dead or alive.
Just be gone.
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