Sadness - warning for the animal lover

Unfortunately and very sadly, war means murder. Not death, murder. I was saddened today that one of the mice was found in our traps that we set. In the B & Q store (our Home Depot) Bond and I stood in the aisle staring at the various ways you can rid your house of pets. We looked for humane traps, things to deter them from entering, and unfortunately we had the tough decision to make about how to kill them. Bond was very sensitive to me, seeing my eyes with tears most of the trip. Why are mice made so damn fluffy? Why do they have the most adorable whiskers that twitch when you speak to them and they sniff your hand? Having owned mice for three years, the thought of trying to actively kill them was tragic. I wish our house was invaded by creepy crawlies, which I have no problem removing having Bond remove. However, even then, I ask Bond to move the creature outside instead of squashing in a tissue.

It didn't help that at the moment we decide for a mousetrap, that a crazy old lady starts spinning a tale of how she caught them with just a few tools from Poundland. Her graphic description of their capture and inevitable torture was enough to and did, send me over the edge. I think she got the message when Bond just about stabbed her in the throat with his eyes.

To appease me, we bought copious amounts of mouse deterrent such as sound sonars to irritate them, but we did have to buy several traps.

This morning, first one up because my bladder is the size of a walnut with the elasticity of skinny jeans (none), I saw the little friend dead on the carpet with a shining silver necklace. I know this is a First-World problem, but I do feel really saddened by its death and I have cried several times. I guess this is why Britain started the plague in the first place, a bunch of genuinely kind-hearted animal lovers refused to kill the fuzzy rodents and instead shared some bread with them (and skin cells). We have reset the traps and I fear the worst. Also, to add to my sadness, the poor fellow left a stain on the carpet which will haunt me much like Lady Macbeth.

Out, out damned spot.

This is war

It's 11:45am and I want chocolate. I know, don't judge. I remember that I just purchased a fresh box of After Eights and they are sitting in my purse. I go into the bag, see some of the chocolate scraped away from the sides but without a worry plop it into my mouth. Seconds later, while the chocolate is still dissolving, I see nibble marks all over the side of the box and funny...all the tops of the chocolates! MIIIICCCEEEEE!!!! I spit out what's left in my mouth and scream. Mice were in MY purse, eating MY chocolates! I continue to dig through after cursing to Bond for several minutes, only to find dozens of mini-poops and pee! I know it is pee because it is yellow on the ball of kleenex I have stuffed in their for my cold.
No animal comes between me and my morning pick-me-up. No one.









I would also like to add that there had been no sightings of mice until I brought home THIS from Canada after my Christmas visit, a mouse doorstop. This must have been a BIG welcome into our home, having such a false idol laid at their feet. Similar to a light in the window of the Underground Railway, all mice welcome here. Something must be done.

The Great Mouse Detective

So as usual, I promise to blog more only to do my usual one post per month. Get in and get out. It's a shame because I have great ideas to write about during my day, however after the commute home in pitch-black London fog, I lose my gusto to write. So again, I am losing my fan base faster than a Lost-J.J. Abrams hiatus. For that I am sorry.

I guess I just need to be truly inspired or compelled to write something and here it is...a sweet nugget of a tale that just popped up in my life.

I got a text from Mr. Bond on Thursday that read something like, "hey darling hope you have a great day, can't wait to see you tonight. By the way, some bad news, we have mice. Talk later." Oh ok, we have mice. Thanks Bond. Is that a British term for dust bunnies? Are the mice frozen because you have purchased a larger reptile that needs mice to eat to survive? Are we in the business of mice? I, of course call to clarify only to hear Bond confirm a terrible fear that we in fact have mice infesting the house as evidenced by a chewed-through bin bag on the floor and a pretend sighting of the mouse scampering across the kitchen. (Bond swears he saw the mouse, however stories keep changing under pressure and I am certain the sighting was created to add credibility to a shady encounter).

I have now reached THE greatest dilemma of my adult life which intersects my beliefs in a germ-free living space and an animals-have-souls philosophy. Let me remind you of an earlier post where I apologize to my old and decrepit stuffed animal when he/she falls onto the floor in the night. I still have dreams that Strawberry is just hiding in the closet and I will open it to be reunited with that sweet smell of old cat dander. Of course I realize that if something isn't done, our flat will become something like Apocalypse Now where I enter the room only to find Bond huddled on the tile kitchen floor surrounded by rows of mice on the countertops, fridge, and cupboards - all sporting red bandanas and bows and arrows made from toenail clippings and staples. So I ask around the workplace and hear of this fantastic option to simply buy a high-pitched noisemaker that emits a whistle sound, out of range for human ears, the mice don't like so they kindly pack their cheese and go.

So when I get home before Bond, I inspect the area and do in fact find evidence of critters (small bag nibbles) but no droppings or fur. I have deduced that they have only taken residence in the last 24 hours as we left the bag on the floor the day before to leave more room for rubbish. (This should be an entirely other blog entry where I comment that bin bags are made to hold 3 times the amount of waste that a can holds and what a waste of a earth-destroying plastic only for a few items). Bond comes home and decides to spend our Friday night cleaning from top to bottom with bleach (appreciated, but having owned mice I am not too bothered, and would rather them join us on the couch for a few episodes of Modern Family and a bottle of wine).

Anyway, there have been no further sightings of mice and I have now deemed in my head (not in Bond's) that a high-pitched noise-maker would be equally as cruel as we do not know how painful this will be for said critters. Having removed all sources of mouse attraction, I am certain they will not return. However, last night around 3am I woke up worrying whether or not the mice would have enough food to last the winter. It is snowing here in London now, and they might not have anywhere to go outside of our humble yet welcoming flat. I had to stop myself from leaving a small sliver of cheese in the crack of our wall. Again guilt plays on my mind as my childhood flashbacks of Muppets Christmas Carol enters my conscious; "No cheeses for us meeses."

Possible other sources of this guilt:
- reading books such as School Mouse, Mouse and the Motorcycle, the Witches, and Desperaux during critical growth periods
- owning mice - three beautiful bundles of piss, Toonce, Magillicutty, and Johnson
- watching a documentary on mice brains waves in university (they THINK like US)
- definitely reading above-mentioned books

All I can picture now are a family of mice wearing tiny hats, with over-sized ears popping out from under them, riding around on my electric toothbrush, and typing emails to their friends on my mac when I am at work. Who could kill/pierce their ears with noise?

House mice - friend or foe...you be the judge.

Liquid Glow

Well a two week visit at home flies by so quickly. I spent as much time as I could with people but it still wasn't enough. I didn't get to spend as much time with family and friends (especially bffs) as I wanted and there are some important people I didn't even get a chance to see. All I can say is blame time not my heart.

While sitting in the airport I realize it's not the country, open spaces, family, or friends I will miss the most but instead...the water. Yes, I will miss the tri-city area's water the most. We complain about it's quality and people are still lobbying to take certain things out or put more chemicals in but quite frankly, shut up. My skin has never been more fab than it is now when returning from London. London water is like bathing in a swamp. I swear I have seen algae squirt out of my tap and I have washed my make up off with a lily pad. I am dreading the first wash when I touch down in the New World, so I have decided to prolong much to Mr. Bond's disappointment. I just can't risk the red flare up that will surely ensue. There is also the threshold point of prolonged wash - to - grease factor. If I wait too long, perchance I will make my skin situation worse. Either way, I know I won't be seeing this Canadian glow for a long time.

It was good to be back. I missed everyone and the little things like hearing my accent everywhere. I hope to be back soon to visit. Good bye Canada, and thank you for the water.

Hair Bandit

During my very busy week off from school (not) I did what I typically do, which is watch Lauren Conrad's beauty tutorial website. For anyone as self-involved as myself, it is quite a great website which teaches you how to do new hairstyles, makeup, nails, etc. This has left me trying new hairstyles every day to test out around the house. Unfortunately I live with Hair Bandit Bond, who doesn't seem to realize the importance of not touching hair once "done." "Done" hair can look like "undone" or "not done" hair, however "done" hair has taken a considerable amount of time to perfect. May it be a Waterfall Braid or Just-Up-From-Bed-Curls, within minutes of encountering said Bandit, my hair is fluffed, scratched, and left unkempt.

Sometimes I wonder what the point is. Then I just rebrush and retry. Life is hard.

Shitmunchers

Bond and I conveniently live right across from a Sainsbury's (our Zehrs) so we tend to shop quite regularly for groceries (daily). Which is quite pathetic because instead of ever planning ahead, we pop in every night to buy our evening meal. I am still getting used to the ins and outs of the country and all the social norms that no one has ever set out for me. My most recent life lesson has been about the types of brands you should or should not be purchasing from the grocery store.

I did a shop by myself and purchased some grapefruit in a can (I always have fresh ones, so don't judge, but that day I thought it might be nice to switch it up and pour them over some porridge or something). Well I opened it up and it seemed a bit skunky. Bond told me to never buy Sainsbury's Basics because it is never the best quality.

The next day I went back to Sainsbury's (of course) for some brown sugar. When I got to the sugar aisle, the only brand I could find was Sainsbury's. So I returned with my head hung and tail between my legs to report back to Bond that I had to buy the crap stuff. He looked at it and said that Sainbury's brand was ok to buy, it's just "never buy Sainbury's Basics. Sainbury's Basics is so the shitmunchers can afford to do their weekly shop. There are different levels of Sainbury's brands."

Hilarious. Only in England would a class system be so ingrained that even the names of the food brands denote where you stand in life. Further, for the lowest class to be defined as shitmunchers is even better. Britains version of the Untouchables. Oh brother.

Hibernation

Well it has been a long time since I've written anything for my loyal readers. I would like to say I have been so busy that I literally haven't had time, but let's be serious; I am living in another country away from the major things that would take up my time in Canada, and we all know I have just smashed another season of True Blood. SO I am not really all that busy. Truthfully, the writing bug just hasn't really bit me until now. I am much happier when I am writing, so I will try to keep it up to date more. Some people already know that I have taken the major leap and moved in with someone, a boy...wooooo *snicker snicker. So I guess I have been relatively busy in my time away from writing. Many ridiculous moments have also occurred, so let me summarize:

1. Every day I am usually running slightly behind to work. This leaves me almost in a near jog when I get off the tube and have to trek the remaining distance by foot. Well lately, there has been a woman with a baby carriage whom I will refer to as bitch  nemesis, who also walks the same path as me. This fine lady takes up the entire sidewalk, leaving me the grooves in the sidewalk for proper rain drainage to tramps through. I have become more bold with this walk and sometimes even give a small pfft as I pass her. Well it all came to a head last week as I was particularly late and my jog was nearly a sprint. I was approaching her quite fast from the rear, when she caught me out of the corner of her eye and sped up. I wasn't going to take that. Ever. What can only be described as a drag-race on foot began, where we were both neck in neck going down the hill toward my school. It was particularly ridiculous, as neither of us could run because that would clearly admit to a race, instead of a gentlemanly jaunt. Both of us were powerwalking in such a manner that my elbows were perfectly perpendicular to the pavement and my arse muscles were taut. She did manage to pick up her pace, slightly faster than my short hobbit legs and broke ahead. I reached my school gate feeling defeated, however the greatest sense of pride gripped my chest when she stopped dead a few paces ahead of me. She had to turn her buggy AROUND as she had missed her turn! What larks! She had got so caught up that she stupidly had to backtrack our battleground to hang her head in shame. Katie - 1, Carriage Clown - 0.

2. I seem to have many nemesis...nemesises...nemesi...enemies in life, and none from my own doing, however luckily my next one is an inanimate object. Everyday I work through my recess and lunch break (woop woop teacher of the year award) leaving me only 30 seconds to run down the corridor, into the bathroom, unleash, and return to the playground before my class gets called in for lessons. Well this means I constantly forget that the toiletpaper dispenser isn't properly attached to the wall of the stall. This causes a series of curses to spring forth from my mouth every time I try to rip off a strip of tp, as the casing rips off the wall and the toilet roll flies onto the floor of the bathroom...yuck. Similar to the Arrested Development scene with the cornballer, it gets me everytime.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJe6jg5gHtk

Anyway, I will be returning to Canada very soon with my new roommate, James Bond, to celebrate Christmas with fam and friends. More updates to come.