Yesterday the cats went berserk trying to catch the stinker. It hid behind the bookcase, then finally ran to hide behind the desk.
After we herded all the four leggeds upstairs, Husband set traps here and there, hoping to find a nice dead rodent this morning.
Not so.
Husband set about disarming all springs this morning so everyone could come downstairs without getting a tootsie trapped.
Here are Frost and Mimi yesterday. They had been crouched for a long time. Eventually, they chilled and just stared at the mouse under the bookcase:
And of course, the ever vigilant, mighty Maine Coon hot on the mouse trail:
AHEM!
So, anyway. The scary thing is when the cats came down, none of them acted like there had ever been a mouse in the house.
When we came home from the ever increasing doctor's appointments today, I coulda sworn I smelled rat.
Husband sniffed, shrugged and said, "Possibly."
Daughter just looked at me.
No one that abides in this abode except me can smell stuff worth a tee wattly toot.
I may be just a wee bit paranoid as we once had a mouse die in the vent and we had to live with it because we couldn't get to it.
Lordee.
Or maybe the same buddy that dropped him off came back by and picked him up.
We can only hope.
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