You can read part I here.

Let me just start off by saying no, I have not been living with a mouse for the past three weeks. Thank God. I don’t think that would ever happen, because about four days into our mouse soiree I was ready to pack my bags and head for the hills (aka my sister’s condo). That wasn’t necessary, however, because my fabulous, nimble, CIA-operative-in-a-past-life husband out ninja’d the most ninja mouse of all.

The weekend after the mouse sighting, Scott and I set out on a mission to kill that little bastard. (Sorry animal lovers, but it had to happen). The little guy had evaded seven traps in as many days and I was beginning to feel outsmarted, which, given the amount of tuition fees I’ve paid in the last four years alone, was simply not okay. We knew from the GPS tracking device we harpooned on the little guy mouse sightings that he was coming from somewhere behind the refrigerator/stove, and we knew he couldn’t be in any of the cabinets because we sealed them when we bought the house the last time we had a mouse. So we had our exterminator Scott’s Dad come over and pull out all the appliances, while I went to Home Depot and bought that awful fiberglass sealant (plus a copy of Dwell Magazine because I like to decorate can’t resist an impulse read).

Scott and his Dad saw the mouse a few times while they were pulling out the appliances—I’m telling you, this mouse had balls—but they didn’t have any luck catching the little ninja. So Scott sealed up all of the holes behind the appliances, and I went to do some Dwell magazine reading schoolwork while we waited for the little guy to come out (though I secretly was wishing that he would get stuck in the walls and I would never have to see him again). Just as I’m settling in to a fascinating article about the joys of management, Scott strides into our home office and proclaims victory. It was true: he had out ninja’d the ninja mouse. And by out ninja-ing, I mean he saw that little f**ker INSIDE OUR TOASTER (just thinking about it makes me shudder) and carefully, quietly, strategically placed the 25 million seven mouse traps in our house all around the outside of it. With a quick bang on the counter, the little nugget popped out of the toaster like a bagel and went splat on the trap. And no, I do not feel bad about it for a second. Especially now that I’m the proud owner of a new toaster.

That was three weeks ago and we haven’t seen a mouse since. Oh, the sweet, sweet taste of victory… and having a ninja husband.