Just a Minor Threat

I hate meeces to pieces...

The thing about mice is that they are very cunning and masters of strategy. There is no boot big enough, no man patient enough to properly hunt them with any satisfaction. If this were Stratego, my basement would be Australia. They hide in the darkened corners, waiting, laughing. Little damn ninjas.

You'd think our twenty pound cat, Thunderpuss, would have a field day with these little bastards. Well, you have too much faith for the cat lost her instinct to hunt long ago - I think she left it somewhere on the futon in the office upstairs. Her life of leisure is at my expense... she waits upstairs for one of us to die so she can come down and eat us. What a horrible creature. To that I say Eat Me. Eat me Thunderpuss.

Well, I've laid the traps with peanut butter for scent, and bread to give them something to munch on. I've trapped quite a few this season - almost enough to make a small coat. The problem is that they are so damn small that they're terribly difficult and time consuming to skin... and I have no use for a coat that small. What ever will I do with all these tiny hides?