A Mouse, A Snake, And A Good-For-Nothing Cat

Well, more bad news this morning, and I might be out another hefty chunk of moolah. God, I just can't win.

But I will not submit you guys to another bitchfest like the one I had yesterday. I'm terribly sorry about that uninhibited rant. Sometimes you just have to vent or you end up standing in the middle of the road naked, covered in someone else's blood, holding an axe and wondering why you can't remember the past 36 yours.

Not a shared experience? oops. Now I guess things are going to be awkward between us.

Sooo...let's talk about something else, shall we?

This is Skittles:

She's a cat. She's young, healthy, and active. She has claws and teeth. She has great hearing and the ability to see in the dark.

Moving on....
This is the snake in the basement:

Rather, this is the only evidence we have that a snake lives in the basement because let's face it, if I even see that sucker, let alone have the ability to pick up a camera and photograph him, I'm bricking up the basement door and calling an exorcist in, just to be on the safe side.
Now, we don't know much about Ormonde (that's his name. Naming things makes them less scary), but we DO know that
A) he lives in the basement, and has for some time now, and
B) he's getting bigger, because this is the second skin he's shedded out of. Which means he's healthy.

Now, what do Skittles and Ormonde have in common? I'll tell you. When given the option, the both eat mice. Which brings me to my next point:
Given the fact that Ormonde occupies the basement and Skittles occupies the rest of the house, WHY THE "F" DO WE HAVE A MOUSE GOING THROUGH OUR CABINETS?!?!?

Gah. Leave it to us to inherit the only cat/snake combo that seems to have no problem cohabitating with furry rodents. This is ridiculous. Come on, guys!

Skittles, I know that you sleep for 22 hours a day and that the other 2 hours are usually spent dashing around the house in a puffy-tailed frenzy being chased by invisible forces that, judging by the speed at which you run, are hell-bent on skinning you alive, but could you...you know...spare a moment from your sleeping and senseless running to catch that friggin mouse?!? I promise, I won't even scream when you leave the dead carcass in my shoe. Hell, I'll roast it up, slather it with gravy, and serve it to you on our fine china myself. Just please....for the love of god....kill that thing so it stops shitting and peeing in my cabinet drawers, forcing me to run the silverware throught the washer repeatedly to keep me from shivering in disgust.

And Ormonde. I know we've kind of been trash-talking you lately because, let's be honest, you are kind of squatting in our basement and doing the laundry now gives me the heebie-jeebies. But here's your big chance to redeem yourself. I promise, if you eat the mouse, you can stay in the basement as long as you want. Just stay invisible and don't throw any parties. Oh, wait, are you poisonous? Probably not, but if you are, then you need to go. Well, kill the mouse first, then go. Consider it a going-away present.

In the meantime, Brian says he's going to purchase some sticky traps to catch that little varmint. I'd say our chances of catching him are good, considering he's been routing through our drawers for 4 nights in a row. Mouse, prepare to meet your doom. You'd better pray you step on one of those traps, because if our cat/snake posse ever gets its shit together, you're one dead rodent. ("If" being the operative word here).

Okay, I'm off to enjoy my last weekday of freedom by cleaning and doing laundry. I hope Ormonde does me a favor and lays low while I'm down there (eeek).