I also discovered that I am an insane softie. Or a scaredy cat. Not sure which. Allow me to explain.
See, when we came down to the play room after nap today, we found this little bugger waiting for us.
Now I hate dead stuff. It's just not my thing.
But I knew I had to Mom Up and find a graceful way "deal with the situation" before Bennett could poke it with a toy or Sterling could scoop it up and slip it into her purse.
I found myself a handy little bucket and decided that it would officially be my "dead mouse handler".
Armed with the bucket and a HUGE handful of toilet paper, I crept towards the little bugger. In the back of my mind, I was terrified that it might suddenly spring back to life and rush at me with its mousy little jaws snapping in fury. As little as I wanted to go near the mouse, my two little helpers were desperate to get at it. They both did their best to dodge around me while I played defense with my bucket and worked up the courage to tackle the mouse.
After a few gentle nudges to make certain it was dead, I carefully shimmied it into the bucket. It landed with a hollow thunk.
Awesome! Yay for me! I did it! With a mental pat on the back I straightened up, a part of me secretly expecting a round of applause from the invisible audience.
Then I realized. Oh shit, now what do I do with it???
I considered chucking it out into the woods, but that didn't seem right. I had no idea how it had died, but if it was from poison, I didn't want to kill something else in the process. I thought about popping into the garbage, but then I realized it would likely start to smell before the garbage pick up on Monday.
And so the only viable option I could think of was to flush it. It works for goldfish, right?
Not incredibly dignified, no, but I couldn't think of anything better.
So I slid its furry little body into the toilet and flushed.
The little mouse went several times around the bowl, floating merrily along the top. The bowl emptied, the mouse remained.
I flushed again, this time pressing down on the flusher handle (that's a technical term) with extra vigor and purpose.
Again, the mouse floated.
Stumped, I piled some toilet paper on top, hoping that would help weight it down.
In an act of desperation, I piled copious amounts of toilet paper on top until the whole mass sank, THEN I flushed.
It looked like this was going to be the perfect solution… until the toilet chugged hollowly in that classic sign of a clog.
With visions of reaching into the bowl up to my shoulder to fish out a soggy mouse carcass, I flushed a final time.
The bowl filled. Kept filling. Reached that point where it almost overflowed... and then suddenly flushed.
I've never had such a memorable toilet flush in my life. Actually, I have, but never in an instance involving a mouse carcass.
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