Death By Tupperware's 9x13 Cake Taker

“We have have rats in the cellar.” I announced.
“Uh... we don’t have a basement” was the response I received, as the other half calmly explained the construction of the house, not looking up to see my best Betty Davis face. 
“Okay, we have mice in the kitchen.... and I want acknowledgment for my campness..."

That was over two months ago. After a long contract with an exterminator, and me bleaching every surface time and time again, we still have rats in the cellar. Well, they’re actually cute tiny mices. They only come around when I’m doing homework at the dinning room table. After an hour of sitting quietly, they start to scamper around the kitchen. They don’t really DO anything, just scamper and leave droppings for me to bleach. Leave it to me to have the most boring mice, yet I’m not sure what mice are legally obligated to do. Their job pretty much is to just scamper around in your peripheral vision. Like twinks at a dance bar. 

This morning I sat down to write a paper for Sociology class when I distinctly saw a bit of brown fluff fly into the pantry. “Ah-Ha, you think you can out smart me!?” I said in my best Inspector Jacques Clouseau voice. As I opened the pantry door, there was my little friend, trying his best to look like a piece of fluff. Like twinks at a dance bar. I reached for the first thing I thought of when one wants to catch a mouse. My Tupperware 9x13 cake taker. In yellow. I slowly undid the cover and held the lid of my fabulous Tupperware product as I peered into the darkness that is the lower shelves of my pantry. A loud shake to the turkey roaster and the game was afoot. The tiny mouse ran out of the pantry and I slammed down the lid of of the cake taker. The furry beasty was trapped under the translucent lid. Trapped as my prisoner. 

“What the hell do I do now?” I asked the dog, who had just peeked his head around the corner to see what the hell what the noise was all about. The dog looked at me, then the cute fur ball in my Tupperware prison. “Beats me, they scare the hell out of me” was the look I got from the fierce Chinese fighting dog. Do I just kill it? In my Tupperware?  Well, they are air tight... No. By the time I concocted a plan I glanced down to find my plastic prison was empty. 

“Run little guy--run free, but tell your friends of what you saw here today. Tell them the story of your capture. Your torment. This kitchen is defended!”

The exterminators are scheduled for Friday.