Of Mice and Alarm Clocks

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Living in an old out-building of a farmhouse has its perks.  My house has character.  My house has a unique look that will never resemble the cookie-cutter variety of subdivision homes but my house also comes with unwanted roommates who do not pay any rent.

My humble abode is home to a few wasps nests, a veritable plethora of spiders and an array of undefined insects that have yet to be identified on Google.  My basement resembles something akin to the Red Room in Amityville Horror and the holes in the foundation outweigh the number of windows and doors that access the main floor of my dwelling.

For the past six mornings, at precisely 5:30 am, mice, or a similar sub-species of rodent, have entered my home through those portals and begun to prepare for the foreshadowing winter.  My peaceful slumber has been rudely interrupted by the scurrying of tiny clawed feet and the incessant chewing that comes with building a nest.  There is no soft music to ease me from my sleep, merely the echoed sounds of ravenous vermin slowly dissecting the inner sanctum of my shelter.

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(image credit: roundedoff.com)

As I lie in the comfort of my bed, wrapped in my duvet with my dog sleeping by my feet, several thoughts formulate in those moments before dawn actually meets the day.  I imagine myself engaging in a battle, riot gear at the ready for an all-out war against the dextrous creatures but then reality sets in.  Apart from ripping through the drywall to catch the furry infidels in the act, I am at their mercy.  My best defence is the pounding of my fists on the wall at the location where the noise resonates.  There is an angered rebuttal from the other side of the drywall and the chewing continues.  After many botched attempts to dissuade the whiskered pests from literally eating me out of house and home, I resign myself back to my bed and pull the pillow over my head to drown out the sound of my walls disintegrating.

There will come a day that my alarm clock will once again gently rouse me from my dream state and replace the sound of minute mammal incisors depleting the layer of gypsum board that helps to hold the roof over my head.  Until that day I can only hope those tiny furry creatures will understand the rules of mortgage payments and interest and leave their contribution before they begin another day of padding their nest with my drywall.

3 thoughts on “Of Mice and Alarm Clocks

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