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Fiction
A soft growl from my belly let me know it was time for a snack.
In no rush, I ambled over to the pantry where I searched the various shelves for some food. I had a craving for something salty.
I settled on a bag of Lay’s and returned to the comfort of my couch for another Netflix binge session. Promising myself that next weekend I’d read a book or something more productive. A promise I’d most likely break.
As I shoveled down chips like a starving animal, I realized some were falling from the bag. With some closer examination I noticed a hole. As if the bag had been chewed on. Gnawed on by a tiny mouth.
“That damn mouse,” I muttered.
The sneaky little bugger had been chewing through my dog’s bag of food that I kept in the garage. Now it appeared he’d made his way into the house.
I avoided it for as long as I could, but now that he’d invaded my home it was time.
Time to set the traps.
A quick Amazon click and a couple days later I was equipped with a box full of mouse traps. Old school traps. The ones you pull back to snap on the mouse when it takes the cheese. Instead of cheese, though, I loaded the traps with peanut butter. That’s what I remember my father doing when I was a child.
