Sunday morning I tottered downstairs after the hellish 2 nights I'd just had with my lungs deciding to pack it in, as they insist on doing whenever an infection hits my chest. I pop my single slice of toast in the toaster & the smell of singed hair assails my nostrils. With 3 females & plenty of long hair floating around the house I don't think anything of it & while I butter my toast ask the Ditz if she will please look for the offending hair & remove it.
If you have a week stomach DO NOT READ ON. What Ditz found in my toaster was a mouse. That's right, a mouse, all wedged between the wires & smoking nicely. I was not well. I was promptly less well. So pleased I never did take that first bite of toast.
I had a serious meltdown. The wretched cat has been picking off a mouse nest one by one for weeks, batting the poor little things all over the house then leaving revolting remains for unsuspecting persons to step on in the dark!
Now I am perfectly happy for the animal to catch & eat the vermin who have no business living in my house. I seriously object to him putting one in my toaster. Not happy, Iss.
The Ditz, who is a wonderful little person, took the toaster away & removed the mouse ~ except for the tail which inexplicably was glued to a wire. I had a horrible 1/2 hour trying to scub the insides of the toaster ~ an exercise in frustration ~ while trying to decide how much hot soapy water anywhere on the wretched thing was too much.
Iss, no more mice in the toaster, ok?