The vacuum cleaner doesn’t really fit under the radiator so I was going to give the usual cursory wipe, but thought I would be more thorough.
And then I thought I saw something move.
To my credit, I didn’t scream. I just shut off the vacuum cleaner and ran downstairs and called my husband.
Then I ran back upstairs and took a picture so that I could guilt him into coming home early, but he’s waiting for the apocalypse.
No scratch that. The image took so long to download that he didn’t get it right away. He’s on his way.
And now my furry friend is holding my kitchen hostage with the door closed. We will have to order out every night for the rest of our lives.
I’m wondering how often those beady little eyes have been staring at me as I waltzed along blithely in bare feet cooking and cleaning and answering demands for water?
I will never complain about our “little mice” problem again.
I will never vacuum again.
I’m just livin’ the dream over here folks.