I was perusing blogs this evening and came across this amusing snippet written by an army nurse in Baghdad:

The mice have moved into the warm hospital. There is a contest every day as to the number of mice caught in what section. The winners this week are OR and EMT -- 5 dead critters each. I, of course, tend to coo and name them. So heart breaking to hear the SNAP of the trap, knowing it could be George in there. Or Thomas, Or Frank. Or Rambo, Or.... I HAVE resisted triggering the traps prior to the mice though. They are getting sneaky -- we have air assault mice coming from the sky. Really. I was sitting at my computer and heard a squeak, squeak and turned just in time to watch a mouse go plop from the ceiling. He looked around a bit, then scampered off. Air assault. I named him Rambo. (the mice get between the inner and outer liners of the depmed tents) Of course, now a few nurses are waiting for the mice to go plop in their hair. Eeeeek.

I stumble across this here, but you can read the rest of this feller's post here.

We actually just had some exterminators in to get rid of our little rodent colony, and it's a good thing too. Those little blighters have gotten in the habbit of visiting the walls of my room late at night -- at least I think they're in the walls -- they might very well be under the floor boards or in the ceiling for all I can tell. Wherever they are, they sure make a heck of a racket. It sounds like they're tearing little pieces of paper every five seconds. As if they've made hundreds of transactions with their itty-bitty credit cards during the day, and when night comes they tear the reciepts in half so that no one steals their credit card numbers.

I mean, if I have to have mice in my house, I'm glad that they're shrewd, but couldn't they have the decency and consideration to buy a blasted paper shredder? At least that way the credit card fraud precautions would be done with by midnight, instead of keeping me up at all hours like they do now -- but no. No, they wouldn't spend their money on anything but those little gourmet cheeses -- not even on a paper shredder -- so guess what? We put out the poison bate. Nibble that you Velveeta-munching rat-demons, you! HA!

Backing away from the light a minute, I'd like to share my glee in an un-maniacal way for a change (my therapist says its good for me): through some kind of miracle -- and no thanks to the mice -- I think I did really well on my SATs. I'm reluctant to say too much, for fear of being disappointed, but I am cautiously optimistic.

Now off to bed.