The other day I came home from school, turned on the light and screamed. There was a mouse on my counter. It ran under the dish drainer.
I felt silly for having such a stereotypical response to seeing a mouse. It really wasn't anything to scream about. It was cute and little.
The person subletting my apartment during the summer told me she had a mouse problem, but I hadn't seen any evidence since I moved back in. I'm not sure why he decided to come back. I guess it's getting cold outside.
I have decided to name him Rex Mousey.
I keep meaning to set the no-kill trap my dad gave me, but I haven't been bothered. As roommates go, Rex isn't so bad. He doesn't seem to be eating my food or building nests out of my toilet paper, just hanging out and staying warm.
He poops on my counter and doesn't pay rent, but hey, nobody's perfect.
The science of Smaug the Terrible
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