There might be a mouse in our downstairs bathroom.
I walked into the kitchen to find Dave hunched down and ushering Byron the Cat into the bathroom. "Go! Go! Go!" he was whispering.
"Whatcya doing?" I asked on my way to get some non-fat vanilla yogurt to mix with No Pudge brownie mix and eat raw.
"You don't want to know."
"Byron catching a mouse?" and with that I had opened the floodgates.
"YES! And I need something for back up. To get the mouse! Go! Go! Get me a broom or a mop. Quick! Quick, woman!"
"Whatcya going to do with it?"
"Get the mouse," he said disgustedly.
This from the man that asks me to 'protect' him from spiders. I went back to watching Grey's and munching on my faux chocolate pudding.
Byron is still in that bathroom. Dave is, as I type, chastising me for not loving Byron enough. "Think of all of the times you have tossed him off the bed. Toss! And now he is defending OUR BABY!" (Our baby who is asleep, mind you.) "When he gets that mouse, I am going to fill his dish to the brim!"
Still no actual sighting of the mouse.