By ANGEL KANE

Wilson Living Magazine

I consider myself a pretty patient person. So patient, in fact, that one of my claims to fame are my outstanding blood pressure numbers.

They are incredibly low. Low enough that medical professionals sometimes find it concerning. I just smile and inform them, “Oh no, that’s just normal for me.”

But, I’m pretty certain that if I were to run by Walgreens this morning and stick my arm in that cuff, SIRENS WOULD GO OFF! (And men in white jackets would come cart me away!)

As I write this today, Brody and my three children are begging me not to tell you about the subject, or should I say subjects that have basically ruined my life.

But I have reached my limit!

It all started so innocently as I perused Pinterest and came upon the most lovely of all pantries. It was a walk in, with shelving, and on each shelf the food products were laid out; first all the tin cans, then the baking products, then the cereals and so on.

It was so ordered, so organized, so OCD, that it literally spoke to me. (Yes, I know, my family has the men in white jackets on speed dial.)

Three weeks later, I converted one of the small rooms off our kitchen into a walk in pantry. I had shelves put in and then spent an entire Saturday moving the food into the pantry, lining everything up, labeling tins, putting like food groups with like food groups …it was my own, personal heaven-on-earth.

One week later, I reached for a bag of flour and the bottom fell out!

Flour went everywhere. I was covered, my tins were covered, my walls were covered, my pretty multi-colored floor mat was covered, and as I reached down to look at the mess, I noticed the bite marks on the bag and the little black specks of…………..AGGGHHH!!!

When I’m 65 years old, and go in for my first MRI - I’m quite certain the Doctor will ask me, “Mrs. Kane it appears you’ve had a stroke sometime in your past, can you recall when that may have happened?”

And I’m going to know EXACTLY when it happened!

You see my friends, we have RATS.  A word Brody can’t quite commit to.

“Would you please stop calling them rats, they are field mice. And stop telling everyone about them.”

It appears I’m not the only one who coveted my pantry. Apparently a friendly field mouse also thought it was smoking hot, so he told all the other field mice in town about it, who are now having a convention in my pantry.

Since that fateful day, I have been purging, cleaning, scrubbing, bleaching, re-bleaching, screaming, yelling, googling…fighting an all-out losing battle…against field mice.

Most evenings as Brody walks by the pantry and sees me crazed, on hands and knees, checking my traps, he says in a quiet voice …so as not to antagonize…”Field mice just come in when it’s cold. They leave in the spring. I think you’re going overboard.”

“Overboard. Overboard? Google Haute Virus or the Plague! And by the way, these are RATS…if you say the word field mice one more time, I’m going to lose my mind!” (He clutches the phone. Go ahead, call the men with the jacket, I don’t care.) 

And don’t even get me started about the cashier at Lowes. I’ve been in there three Sundays in a row.

First, I started with the glue pads, six boxes of them. “They are for my son’s class project,” I said. She nodded and looked sad for me. 

The next week, I got the poison. The big bag - the one with the scoop. Eyes averted, I whispered “Our neighbors have field mice. They’re getting into our shed.” She pities me, I can tell. I hate her.

This last weekend, when I went to Lowes, I spent over $150 on equipment that I read about on an online Rat Forum. These Plug-Ins emit a piercing sound that field mice hate but humans can‘t hear. I handed her eight of them to ring up.

We made eye contact. “We have Rats.” I said and smiled. She looked away. 

As soon as I got home, I plugged them all in.

Oh God….I think I can hear the buzzing sound! (At least my padded room won’t be infested.)  

To read more of Angel and Becky’s columns go to www.wilsonpost.com.