It's been a few weeks since I updated the story on the little mouse that I occasionally saw scurrying around my house.  To be honest with you, I thought he was kind of cute and while I wasn't happy he made his way into my place, I was more intrigued with trying to figure out how he got inside than I was trying to capture him.

He's literally just a round-boy no more than two inches long.  But when I talked to my mom and about it on the phone, that little old Italian lady became so riddled with anxiety that her body started to ache and she had flashbacks to the time she thought her house had 8 million of them. You would have thought I told her a serial killer was camped out my closet; clearly Mom wouldn't be satisfied until she knew I was committed to hunting and killing it NOW!

I was able to talk my mom off the ledge telling her that I had purchased some "catch and release" mouse traps that were being shipped overnight.  Apparently, it was enough to prevent her from showing up at my place with rat poison, tactical gear, a flamethrower and body bags.

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Next up it was Papa Codes who takes on the energy of my mom.  My mom was panicky, so he became the same and all I heard in the background of the call was "You better kill it, Brian!"   For f***** sake, everyone leave me alone! For the record, Chrissy's mom is no different from my mother.  Apparently, the old school Italian way when it comes to dealing with furry round rodents is 'kill or be killed.'

The next day the traps came and I slathered up some peanut butter and placed a few throughout the house and so far, nothing.  It's been a few weeks and I haven't seen or heard from him - I check the traps daily - nada.

Maybe the mouse got the memo from Mama.

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