officially bummed

I love living in the country. I accept that there are incoveniences. There may even be discomforts. And there are mice. As the weather cooled, we noticed the little critters moved back indoors. There was even one little bloke who sat and watched us from behind the DVD-bookcase while we watched TV at night. But why do they have to die on my stuff? A couple of weeks ago, filing and sorting my scrapbooking magazines, I unearthed an ominous smell as I slipped one magazine holder down from the shelf - one of the little blighters had died down inside the back of it, and left a reminder of himself on several of the magazines. That's one way to slim down the CK collection. Muttering and grumbling, he was dispatched over the back fence, and the tainted magazines dropped in the incinerator.

This afternoon, Kate pulled out one of the CM scrapbooks to look at, and "Mum, it smells like dead mouse in there." Ants on the cover of that book, I draw out the next one to discover a very flat, rather smelly mouse remnant. Stuck like glue to the cover of the CM scrapbook by some unmentionable substances. How on earth did the damn thing manage to die between the books like that? Anyway, Ray to the rescue, I couldn't even begin to clean that sucker off, and the two scrapbooks, smelling of disinfectant, are sitting on the workbench to "air off". I think that's a good reason to be bummed tonight.