@$%&!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So the mouse and I went at it again tonight. My attempts at traps have not worked. It ate four holes in my vacuum, destroyed a new bag of flour, and has been stealing food from Milo's dish. We can hear it under the stove a few times a day, but the little nazi refuses to back down. It doesn't even scurry when I pond on the counter or have the decency to wait until night to go rummaging.
Milo notified me that the little terrorist was in the empty soda box. I flipped it into the previously used rubber bin and prepared to do the unthinkable. I was going to follow someone’s suggestion, and flush the freaking thing down the toilet. Cruel, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
So I tipped the bin to one side and cracked the lid open. The little piece of $#%& run across my hand, up to my elbow, and jumped to the floor. Yes, I screamed. I didn't expect it to be at the top corner. Milo tried to corner it, but it skirted past him and we lost it.
The good news is that Milo is now on a mission with me. We agree that this pest needs to pay for it's messes, and for freaking us both out! I hate that mouse. I hate it more than I can tell you. I can not believe that I once felt sorry for it. That I suffered from guilt over killing it. It should have gone quietly, cause now I am really ticked off! Even if it talked like Stewart Little, or danced with the mop like freaking Mickey Mouse, I would bash it over the head with my broom and send it deep sea diving.