Uh, sorry Aimee, the peppermint oil only made my house smell like a chewing gum factory. Mousy is scampering about unimpeded and laughing and laughing. Under my feet. During the day. Right past the dog. Laughing and laughing. This morning I had it trapped under the fridge. Whoosh! There he goes. Laughing and laughing. I've done everything I can think of to dissuade Topo Gigio from hanging here. Although I do not want to become Mousy Murder Inc., I might have to go to something a bit stronger and potentially lethal. We'll see who's laughing then.
The story behind the title of this post is that I went to school for a year in Rome. Although we didn't live at the school, there was a kitchen there for the students to use. One evening I was in the kitchen and the only other person there was the school janitor. I didn't speak much Italian and he didn't speak any English. I went to wash something and saw that there was a dead mouse in the sink. Not knowing what else or how else to say something so the janitor could come see (and remove it), I said excitedly, pointing in the sink, "Topo Gigio es morte!" Which means "A little hand puppet from 30 years ago is died in the sink!" First he looked at me like I had an extra arm growing out of my forehead, then he laughed and laughed.