Napalm, Mac, and Mousey

Thunder. Here. This morning. Scared the Little Dog. I had to hold her like a baby child. And me? I’d forgotten what it sounded like.

This bird on one side of my house refuses to let me sleep late. He doesn’t have a pretty song either. He sounds like he’s beating two rocks together. I want to shoot him. I want to bring him down in a hail of gunfire. As in Oakland. As in gangland style sparrow slaying.

Now, I have a set of crickets on the other side of the house. Pathetic. I only have two choices of sleeping locations. I can sleep on the sofa, which is on the side of the rock-pounding sparrow, or I can sleep in the master bedroom, which is on the side of the cricket chorus. I want DDT and a lot of it. I want napalm. I want to defoliate the whole block.

My MAC is acting an ass, and I’m afraid it might partially be my fault though I don’t want to accept blame for it, so I won’t. I was trying to speed things up so I cleaned up the start up folder. I did one of these, “What’s this? I don’t know. I think I’ll delete it.” That was last week, but today Entourage, which is the MAC’s version of Outlook, keeps crashing.

Yesterday, I was at the hospital, pulling stock in the gift shop storeroom, and I discovered the mouse was back. He had snacked on some Ranch Flavored Doritos and regular Cheetos. Right now, the gift shop’s storeroom is next to the loading docks and the Psychiatric Ward. In fact, I suspect the psych(o) guys of swiping stuff off our palette on the dock before we get a chance to put it in our storeroom. Anyway, we are moving to a new storeroom, which is larger, more secure, and in the center of the hospital. I hope we don’t accidentally give Mousey a ride to the new storeroom in one of the boxes when we transport the stock. He’d be like King Mouse, riding his thrown to his new kingdom of everlasting manna.

I said something along those lines to the head of volunteer services. His response was some sort of Disney mouseology where he explained, “Mice don’t live where they eat. They eat one place, and then go out and live some place else.” (And wear white gloves, no doubt.)

I just stared at him because there was no point in rebutting ca-ca like that. I grew up on a farm. Mice eat, crap, breed, and live at the same location. Ask our barn.

5 Responses to “Napalm, Mac, and Mousey”

  1. The head of volunteer services has apparently never lived in the country! I too can testify that mice live, eat, poop, nest, and raise their families in a very small area, and with my assistance (I brought them water every night) they lived the life of Riley in the overhead storage area of our garage. I also brought soda crackers on occasion, when I thought I could do it without being detected. 🙂

  2. LOL! I forgot about your mouse colony. We were a good Mouse Mama.

  3. worldphotos Says:

    AZ, good on you. Driver, that white cat would take care of the birds and the mice.

  4. Yes, I need him out here. The thing I don’t understand is we have a ton of feral cats. I don’t know why they don’t get after that noisy sparrow.

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