Ah, autumn. Or, do not cross me, you poo-spewing piece of filth.

The weather has been lovely. The days are warm and sunny, and the nights are getting cool. Today, I actually considered wearing pants - an option that hasn't really been an option during the last 3 months of hades-like temps.

Fall brings other changes, too. Squirrels are super busy building their hoards. And mice? Mice are busy trying to find warm shelter. And also ruining my life.

This morning, I came down to the kitchen and grabbed my usual Greek yogurt. When I opened the silverware drawer to grab a spoon, there was a little black nugget of awesomeness sitting right in the middle of the spoon, where the yogurt is supposed to sit as it is transported to my mouth. And there were other little nuggets all throughout the drawer.

Yes. There had been a mouse. In my silverware drawer. In my kitchen. Where I prepare our food. Which I assume to be shit-free.

The mouse had also mingled with my kitchen towels and had camped out in my bread drawer.

I will leave my profanity-laden rant to your imagination. But needless to say, it was a doozy. And, needless to say, I spent all day sanitizing my kitchen.

I washed towels and ran the dishwasher about 27 times. I vacuumed and Clorox wiped and Pine-Sol-ed my way around my cupboards. I wiped the insides of cabinets with peppermint oil and left cotton balls soaked in the oil in the back of the cabinet that houses the infiltrated drawers.

I have dishpan hands and a nasty attitude.

We had a mouse in our garage last winter, so I did the peppermint oil business out there, too. Wiping an oil-doused cotton ball along the door to our house felt very biblical. No mice are welcome here! You and your pooping-in-silverware-drawer ilk best keep movin' on, buddy.

After the garage, I moved on to the basement to do the same treatment. Last week, I'd seen what I optimistically hoped was old evidence of a long-gone mouse in our basement. Today, I realized that I was probably just a fool. But, a fool armed with peppermint oil.

Except!

When I went to put an oil-doused cotton ball along what I assumed would be a mouse superhighway next to our hot water heater? There was a giant hairball. A hairball with a tail. A dead mouse!

I have to admit - I suddenly felt super smug. This is what happens when you cross me! Do me wrong and you will not live to tell the tale - or tail! It was like I was a mafia boss - my foe was dead and I didn't even have to do anything!

I even asked My Guy to pick up the carcass, because that's what mob bosses do. Also, because carcass removal is why I got married. I felt sort of guilty, because I totally could have quadruple-wrapped my hand in Target bags and disposed of the mouse. I even asked My Guy if asking him to do it meant that I'm not a feminist. But really? I think Gloria Steinem would agree that smart women get things done. And if I just flashed a boob at my husband to entice him to do the dirty work, isn't that a smart way to get things done?

I guess it doesn't really matter. What matters is that the mouse that crossed me is dead, and surely this is lesson to all other mice. And it was a lot easier than a horse head in a bed.