So this is one of those posts people.  One of the one's i warn you about ahead of time.  It's gross.  It is also a true story of something that happened to me a few days ago.  So if you are the type of person who stops following blogs because of reading hilarious tails of truly disgusting things happening to other people.  Skip this one.  It's not for you. (mom and dad, you already know this one, so you might as well keep going.)

We got home from a whirlwind vacation about a week ago.  And, as one does, we began taking stock of the state of our house upon return.  Well, after i took stock of my four things i sat down to watch some baseball.  Mmf kept taking stock.  As she moves to the kitchen i hunker down on the couch, reveling in the feeling of home.  And then i hear her scream. 

Now its not some horror movie shriek or anything, but mmf definitely full volume screams momentarily.  This is bad for two reasons. 

1.  Women from Vermont don't scream at a whole bunch of things.  Mmf grew up pretty much in the middle of the woods and sees most animals as neighbors more than potential threats or something to scream at.  its all, "Hello Mr. Bear, are you enjoying your midday stroll.  Nice seeing you. Say hi to the cubs for me."  So if she's screaming, its *not* good.

2.  The last scream-able situation had happened recently.  While staying with mmf's family out on the north shore of boston, a bat got into the house.  Actually, it got into mmf's parents room.  The first night.  We discussed said adventure at breakfast.  I believe my input went something like, "If i see that goddamn bat i'm gonna scream like a little girl."  Looking back, i realize that if you were watching a movie of my life--viewing this situation from your tv at home--this would be the moment everyone on the couch would groan with obvious foreshadowing.  But at the time, it seemed like the only thing to say. 

Of course, the next night, as i was bringing Grover in from a walk around 12:30 in the morning, batman resurfaced in the main room.  And that bat was friggin big.  Not the size of a car or anything crazy, but, with wings spread, probably the size of my forearm.  Grover (our pup for those of you who are new here) decided to sit all pretty-like and hope that the bat might be a new friend to play with.  He sat and followed the bat with his head as if he were watching a bizarre tennis match.  I was not as calm.  I may have blacked out.  but i did NOT scream.  take that me!  there was, however, a fair bit of panicking on my part.  Grover, on the other hand, realized that the bat was not going to play with him and went onto the couch to sleep (his bed was upstairs, however).  He wouldn't come, and after a trying day, i just had no more energy to be alone, afraid and wrestling with a dog while trying to prevent a bat from getting upstairs to where we were sleeping (turns out he did get back into the parents room . . . oops).  Anyways, long story medium length, i woke up mmf and she threw a towel over her head, marched directly out to grover, pulled him off the couch and upstairs.  She is my knight in shining armor.  

All this should accentuate how bad hearing her scream felt.  Beacaue, a la the bat--whatever it was that was causing her to scream, it was my turn . . .

Mmf: "There's a dead baby mouse in the tinfoil/saran wrap/sandwich bag drawer."
Me: "But there isn't even food in there."
Mmf: "i don't think i can do this one."
Me: "ok, i need to mentally prepare for this."  (to myself, chanting) "i'm about to see a rat baby [technically a mouse, but give me a break], im about to see  a rat baby. i'm about to see a rat baby."


I am two step to toward the kitchen when i hear it.  She gasps.  Full gasp.  Movie gasp. Horror gasp.  My baby is gasping.  This. Is. NOT. Good.   I can't even comprehend what it is making her gasp, but i already know i should have toughed it out with the bat. 

Me: "What is it hon"
Mmf:  "A nest.  In the sandwich box."

She says this while turned away from the drawer itself.  It's gross enough that she hasn't stopped to look at the details.  I did.  Here's what i saw:

1 mostly unused roll of tinfoil.
1 mostly used roll of saranwrap.
1 open box of sandwich bags with many bags still inside.
1 dead hairy mouse fetus, whole and on the drawer bottom
1 dead hairy mouse fetus, bled out across the drawer bottom
432 (ish?) dead hairy mouse baby fetuses, nested in said sandwich box--all snug as a bug in  . . . well, as a mouse baby in a sandwich box nest.

I'm going to be honest with you folks.  You can't un-see that.  And i still see it sometimes.  The rest of that day i saw friggin ghost dead mouse babies everywhere.  Every dust ball, every semi-hidden remote control--i was a very jumpy chap. 

Our first thought was to just pull out the drawer and dump it whole hog (whole dead mouse nest) into a garbage bag.  Turns out, the drawers in our kitchen are the one thing that doesn't come apart (unlike our dishwasher).  Had to go at it by hand.  Well, gloved hand and paper towels.  The one that had bled out was the grossest.  The brown lining (there is no sliver lining to this story) here was that i could dump the nest without having to pull all those individual suckers out.  All in all the experience left me running and gagging for the toilet.  Just dry heaves.  That's composure. 

While i was gloved i decided to wipe the whole drawer down a bit.  It is now 2 weeks later, and while we have bought new saran wrap, tinfoil, and sandwich bags, they are all still out on the counter. 

Cause i still can't open that drawer.