In some kind of cruel assault on my psyche, the mouse trap that is in my closet caught not one, not two, not three, but FOUR mice. FOUR. Four motherfucking mice were inside my closet, sitting on my old cd player and trying to use my hair straightener. FOUR!
You have just no idea how squicked out I am by this. Four fucking mice were in my closet. Oh, and also, I'm deeply saddened that they died. I'm serious about that too. I didn't want them to die. I just wanted them to be, you know, never in my house. But if they come in. Snap. You'd think they'd learn.
It seems the first one was in the trap last night. Great. Just....wonderful. That means its evil little mouse ghost floated out of the closet and haunted me in my sleep. Oh my god, why did I just type that? Now I'll never be able to sleep again. Fucking mice! My roommate removed it this afternoon and within ten minutes, another one snapped the trap. I was in shock. When there was just one mouse, I could pretend it was an isolated event and keep my mind from filling with horrific images of the whole fucking closet just being a giant mouse orgy. Once there were two though . . .
Actually, two wasn't so bad. A fluke. But then.....within an hour, the trap snapped closed again. Three. And the last one was caught soon after. Four mice. FOUR MICE!!!
Now I'm living in some kind of HP Lovecraft horror story. Mice in my walls, darting around. Breeding. Plotting against me. Their ghosts urging the others to dig out past the barriers I have blocking my closet and and scurry up to my bed and rip me to pieces. I'll wake up covered in mice and mouse bites. I'll wake up with little eyes staring into mine, fully prepares to remove my soul and rip it into millions of little mouse-sized bits, preventing me from ever feeling whole for the rest of eternity!
Okay. Okay. Breath. Breath, damn you. The mice won't tear up your soul. Probably. Maybe.
Dammit, why couldn't it just be Cthulhu in my closet?
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