Me: "Hey dad, what are you doing tonight?"
Dad: "Not too much."
Me: "Do you have a BB gun or a pellet gun?"
Me: "I have a really great idea! Tonight, you should drive to Philly with your gun and hang out in my kitchen and shoot the mice."
Dad: "Uh, I think there are some flaws with this plan..."
Me: "Really? I don't see any."
The mouse had been a common nuisance. Last night, I had people over for dinner and Bible study (Romans 10, if you're into that thing) and when I went into the kitchen I noticed some, uh, evidence that my friend had been out to visit while we were in the dining room eating. Shortly after everyone left I walked into the kitchen and flicked on the switch and I saw not one, but two mice. One dashed into the instrument panel of the stove, the other into the dishwasher. Feeling like I had been patient enough with the situation with one mouse, I promptly lost my cool. I reset the traps, in a new pattern in an effort to fool said mice and there's a chance tears were shed.
A few hours later I walked back into my kitchen and saw something sticking out of one of the traps. Not yet certain if I should feel victorious or disgusted, I slowly crept closer for a peek. It was a cockroach.
I didn't know I had cockroaches.
I've called the management company and I called the exterminator. I am hoping there is a resolution to this soon. I'm willing to offer up my firstborn.
In the meantime, I'm going to sit here in fear that I'm being visited by the plagues. While pricing flamethrowers.