Number 13 just took the path of no return by Kashi's food bowl...a rather successful place for mouse capture if you ask me.

Ask me...that's so depressing to write, to know that I have become adept at sending mice to rather horrible end.

Kashi does not like the mice either. He is nervous and bothered by their shrieking. The baby mice are worse than the adults. Neither of us are comfortable just now.

Last night, I dreamt that the first floor closet was filled with mice. I opened the door and scooped a dozen or so of them into the plastic grocery bags that have been my disposal method of choice. Quickly I twisted the top closed and then spun it around my head to disorient them. Finally, I slammed it against the wall to kill them. I was so spooked by seeing the teaming mice in the closet and my cold response in my dream that when Kashi's nose touched my leg I awoke, screamed, and kicked him completely off the bed. My poor puppy dog!

I came home to empty traps in the closets and beneath the kitchen sink and felt hopeful that an even dozen was going to be my number. However, ever the cynical woman, I put a sticky pad by his food (I won't leave one there while I am gone because I don't want Kashi getting caught in it due to curiosity). A while later, the shrieking began. Kashi whimpered. I sighed.

I hate this.

Would you believe that the quite costly, Kohler faucet in the kitchen that has already had parts fail on it once before started leaking? It only leaks when I use it. I suppose I ought to be thankful I was not welcomed by a flood when I came home, eh?