I don’t like mice; turns out that Husband doesn’t like them either.
I have seen a rat in our old house, but Husband had to fish it’s poisoned carcass from under the dishwasher.
I have heard mice or a mouse, scratching inside the wall of our house shortly after we moved in, and probably only hours after Husband left on a business trip, but Husband found a nest and a few stragglers inside the barbecue.
I was the one who was face to face with a mouse and babies erupting from the woodpile, but Husband is the one who had a mouse run around his feet in the cab of his truck and found a nest in the glove box.
*vomit*
*vomit*
Wtf, mice?
There is no moral to this story, merely a recommendation not to park older vehicles outside near a woodpile.