There’s only one mouse I like.
He’s this one – the mouse who sits outside my favorite fromagerie in Fontainebleau. He guzzles a fine Côtes du Rhône, chomps on a slice of Emmental, and, most importantly, HE’S CARDBOARD.
That’s right. I like fake mice. Not real ones.
This has become a problem, because I fear we have mice in our house.
The other day, I noticed a suspicious brown dot on our bathroom floor. It certainly looked like a mouse dropping.
Then, this morning, D. noticed two others (smooshed, though, so it’s hard to tell… dropping, or piece of mud from the bottom of my shoes?) in our bedroom.
And, the worst of all… when I changed the sheets on my bed today, I noticed a dropping and a piece of short grey hair UNDER the bedsheet. GROSS. UCK. Disgusting. I don’t know if I can ever sleep again.
Are we infested with mice? It’s entirely possible. As I’ve pointed out before, French people don’t use screens on their windows, and we live in the middle of a forest. So, considering the multiple evenings I’ve left the French doors (do they even call them that, here?) in our bedroom open, it would have been quite easy for a little guy to sneak in upstairs. Gross.
The weird thing is, why would he be upstairs? Wouldn’t he go down to the kitchen where crumbs and flours are there for his taking? We haven’t noticed anything in our kitchen at all. I’m not waiting, though. I’m going to go to Carrefour later this week, buy a bunch of Tupperware, and put everything in our kitchen in plastic containers.
Do you think this is mouse? Or am I exaggerating? If it is a mouse, what do I do? Maybe someone will let me borrow a cat?