I have begun to think this attic scratching situation is a glimpse into what it's probably like to go insane. I mean, doesn't it start with irrational thoughts, delusions, paranoia and hallucinations and then progress quickly into thoughts of conspiracy and crazy suspicions? Beats me. Maybe we should Google it and find out. Or--OR--we could all go see the film Black Swan. Which I did. And which has convinced me that going insane involves violently picking at the skin on your fingers and perhaps stabbing yourself in the face with a metal nail file. That's right; I'm talking to you, Winona Ryder.
Anyway. When you hear suspicious scratching sounds in the ceiling and attic of your home, you start to feel like you truly are going insane. I can't tell you how many times I'm in the middle of watching some dumb show like Jersey Shore, I Used to Be Fat or Teen Mom 8,998 and I swear I hear the scratching again. Or, I stop in the midst of conversation to hop on the counter and press my right ear to the ceiling to ensure nothing is trying to get me or eat dog food. See? Crazy.
I hear the scratching when I'm getting ready in the morning. I hear the scratching when I'm getting ready for bed at night. I hear the scratching so often that I think it's never going to stop--truly, I will be listening to scratching for all eternity. It's possible. So, Husband again took the trip of a lifetime into the attic (wearing a hideous flannel shirt, no less) and again saw nothing. Nothing at all. Not even his crazy wife, who was too busy judging the local spelling bee to be bothered with attic-related activities. She wasn't there either. Which is a good thing; I hate flannel.
But in his flannel shirtedness observations, he did notice an important detail of what I'm now calling The Suspicious Case of the Scratchy Attic, A Nancy Drew Mystery; whatever it is that is hiding from his eyes is eating the snacks we left out for them. Delicious, yummy snacks. Which I hesitate to describe as effective as my husband recently told me the cold, hard truth: it's going to get stinky up in this piece. But "just for a while" and "only until they finish decomposing" and "maybe not so bad because it's so cold outside." It would seem our problems are slowly evolving. Into things that not even my favorite Wallflower scents from Bath & Body Works can solve.
As I reflect upon my possibly insanity plea in regards to scratching noises, I can't help but think about the fact that the mice seem to be following me. Don't believe me? Read this. Oh, and don't forget about this. Also, this isn't turning into a blog devoted entirely to mouse problems. Swearsies.