So I was going to share pictures of the puppy with you today but I can't stop being distracted by the SHEER TERROR.
It turns out that moving into zillion-year-old houses that have been empty for, like, ever, tend to have a plethora of, let's just say challenges.
As I sit on my sofa with my feet up off the floor, with every light on around me (which has proven useless), and a broom by my side, which I periodically smack around on the floor just to prove I'm bigger, I'm highly agitated. and disturbed. and AGITATED. There may have been both palpitations and diaphoresis. (Look it up, girls.)
I knew he was here when I started hearing him crunching on my personal possessions over the sound of the television.
CRUNCHING.
OVER THE TELEVISION.
He then proceeded to scamper straight across my floor twice. Once he turned around and gave me this look that I found to be quite insulting and condescending.
He made me mad and mostly scared me to death.
Now I'm trying to convince myself to sleep in spite of the furniture crunching.
Seriously how does one catch a mouse in the middle of the night? Will he crawl up into personal spaces like, you know, beds? or is he content to scamper and glower at me from the floor? Is it safe to go to sleep? These are the questions keeping me up tonight.
Well that and my nostalgia for my rodent-free townhouse.
I'll keep you posted on how things progress, and if I survive the night I'll try to share our new puppy with ya on Friday.
Heaven help me is all I'm saying.
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