Stuff That Happens In My Head, or, Coffee As An Antipsychotic

I got a little overzealous the other morning with the Keurig, and now it's out of order.

I know. Heartbreaking.

So I had to go back to the old school brewer, which doesn't see much action these days. As I waited for my caffeine to brew, the water-spout-thingy inside squeaked a few times.

Which naturally made me think of a mouse. And what would happen if a mouse got stuck inside my coffee pot.

I know. Horrible.

So then I had this almost irrepressible urge to double check that there wasn't, in fact, a mouse in my coffee pot. BUT, even before my first cuppa, I recognized this as nonsensical.

Still...

I finally convinced myself I didn't need to check because: the cats would have gotten the mouse before it made it to the coffee pot. And as sad as it would make me to see Mickey or Minnie drooping  from the jaws of either of my babies, or worse yet, left like the ickiest gift ever at my bedroom door, it would probably be a less painful death than the coffee pot.

This is why I need caffeine.

One dose of salted caramel flavored medium roast later, I'd finally put this maddening line of thought behind me, when...the refrigerator door squeaked.