![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Right.
Run away for those who are inclined to squeamishness.
The cats killed a mouse yesterday.
Not an odd occurance, they're CATS, after all.
Mom apparently cleaned it up. And put the remains in the wastebasket.
Which she didn't take out.
She never mentioned any of this to me, even though it happened in the computer room.
So, I'm sitting here, typing away, trying to identify the smell.
It gets worse. And worse. To the point that I'm practically throwing up, and leaving the room to get away from it.
I am not stupid, I finally recognised the smell as that belonging to a dead animal. Great, I think. There's a dead mouse under the desk.
I grab my flashlight, and crawl around, looking for it.
No dice.
Dad, however, saw me, and asks what I'm doing.
Mom overhears.
"Oh, the cats killed a mouse, and the parts left over are in the trashcan."
Gee.
Y'know, decay on dead animals speeds up when it's hot out.
It's hot inside the house, too.
I am... speechless with anger. What if I hadn't gotten online tonight? Does she even have a clue to how sick I could have gotten? My bed is only in the next room over, and there is NO DOOR between me and the computer room.
What, does she think I *LIKE* the smell?
GOD. I am so ANGRY.
And still naseaus.
I think it's been smelling all day--my dreams last night were fucked up more than normal, and I kept jerking awake, thinking wierd shit.
Dammit.
Anyway. My dad is fucking cool. He took the trash out, and didn't have to.
I would've done it. Puking all the way, probably, but I'd've done it to get rid of the smell.
The cats killed a mouse yesterday.
Not an odd occurance, they're CATS, after all.
Mom apparently cleaned it up. And put the remains in the wastebasket.
Which she didn't take out.
She never mentioned any of this to me, even though it happened in the computer room.
So, I'm sitting here, typing away, trying to identify the smell.
It gets worse. And worse. To the point that I'm practically throwing up, and leaving the room to get away from it.
I am not stupid, I finally recognised the smell as that belonging to a dead animal. Great, I think. There's a dead mouse under the desk.
I grab my flashlight, and crawl around, looking for it.
No dice.
Dad, however, saw me, and asks what I'm doing.
Mom overhears.
"Oh, the cats killed a mouse, and the parts left over are in the trashcan."
Gee.
Y'know, decay on dead animals speeds up when it's hot out.
It's hot inside the house, too.
I am... speechless with anger. What if I hadn't gotten online tonight? Does she even have a clue to how sick I could have gotten? My bed is only in the next room over, and there is NO DOOR between me and the computer room.
What, does she think I *LIKE* the smell?
GOD. I am so ANGRY.
And still naseaus.
I think it's been smelling all day--my dreams last night were fucked up more than normal, and I kept jerking awake, thinking wierd shit.
Dammit.
Anyway. My dad is fucking cool. He took the trash out, and didn't have to.
I would've done it. Puking all the way, probably, but I'd've done it to get rid of the smell.
Uhm...
That does sound like it was a bit retarded on the part of your Mom...
Glad your dad took care of it. If you have any lysol, I'd spray the room. Maybe even put a fan in the window running in reverse to clean out the room fast.