I never did find him. But every spring, I get field mice and that spring, no mice! But I guess he left because every spring after that, the field mice would come back and it would take me about 2 weeks to get rid of them. Mice are cute and all, but NOT IN MY HOUSE! Thankfully, they haven't made an appearance in a couple of years.
What would have me running into the street screaming are lizards, those tiny frogs and BUGS. They freak me out so bad!
If I'd have had a camera in the bathroom one morning, I would have definitely won America's Funniest Home Videos. Again, right after my husband passed and I am not used to being in the house alone and everything is going wrong, I get up one morning, stumble into the bathroom and sit down. Half asleep still. Right after I sit down, something touches my behind. Yep, a FROG jumped up and kissed me right on the butt! I jumped straight up, screaming bloody murder, tried to run. Forgot my underwear was around my legs, fell face-first over the basket full of decorative towels and into the side of the half open door. I busted my elbow on the granite around the sink and blackened my cheek on the corner of the door. The dog took off running and barking, sure that her "mommy" had lost her mind.
After I picked myself up, I eased over to check it out and the frog was on the toilet rim. It was about an inch long and maybe a half an inch wide. Every few minutes, I would go back and peek to see that he was still there - somehow comforted that he was because at least I KNEW where he was. I did this all morning, trying to figure out what to do. He would move from the back of the seat to under it, to under the rim and back. Now that I think back on it, poor lil bugger was probably quite traumatized.
I had no one to call. I needed to handle it myself but I didn't know how. So right about noon, I downed a straight shot of Grey Goose, put on my husband's boots (think size 5 girly feet in huge, man-sized boots,) orange rubber gloves to the elbows and I got my "weapons" - a very long-handled wooden spoon, some tongs and a gallon-sized zip-loc bag. I took a deep breath and went in as if going to my death (seriously, I could very well have had a heart attack!) After several girly squeals and screams every time he jumped, I finally managed to use the wooden spoon to get him into the baggie that I was holding with the tongs. It took forever! When I finally did, I took off running for the yard in those 5 sizes too big boots, still with all my "gear" on and I get him to the front yard, still squealing and try to empty him out.
Well, he's now WET and stuck to the inside of the bag - he won't come out. I am ranting and squealing like a maniac, shaking the baggie for all I am worth with those boots and rubber gloves and tongs and spoon and when he finally comes out, I look up and see my neighbor across the street standing in his garage, doubled over with laughter.
After that, I got pretty good at doing the "man of the house" pest control. And I now make every effort to do it in street clothes with no accoutrements.
