Mouse Turds

I’ve recently been finding
Mouse turds
In the kitchen.

For a little while
It got pretty hectic
And I swore
I was gonna get traps.

And then it stopped.

The fuckers were fucking with me.

My old cat
Which I’m sure kept them away
Even though she was deaf and frail
Just gave up her sixteenth life
And went to the great beyond.

She was 23+ years old.

The turds are back.

I’ll be the first one to admit
That I have intentions
But my memory ain’t so good.

So for a few weeks now
I’ve been meaning to get traps
But I’m buying fish
Or milk
American cheese for my son
Chai for my daughter
Garbage bags
Toilet paper
More friggin’ milk...

But I forgot the traps.

I’ve heard him foraging before.

The kitchen is directly below my bedroom.

But last night it got bad.

That sonuvabitch
Sounded like he weighed
Several pounds.

I could hear him moving furniture around.

Opening and closing doors.

I could hear him mutter to himself
Bitching about what there was
For him to eat.

“Fuck that lazy-ass muthafucka upstairs. I’m eating the good stuff!”

And then I could hear him chewing extra loudly
Just to piss me off.

I picked up my 1911 off of the nightstand
The Mother Of Pearl handle
Smooth in my hand
And wiggled into some
Pajama bottoms.

I thought I crept downstairs quietly
Trying to catch him off-guard.

Nothing.

Furniture was all in place.

No open bags of grain
Spilled all over the kitchen floor.

No doors opened.

No turds...

I put the safety back on
And went upstairs
Crawling under the covers
And fell asleep.

In the morning
When I went downstairs
To make coffee
And get my son ready for school

I’ll be damned if there wasn’t a bunch of mouse turds.

I scribbled down on a piece of scrap paper
“Mouse Traps”
“Kill The Fuckers”

This time I meant business.