Peter and I spent the weekend at a cottage in Cape Breton that was described by the owners as "rustic", which was fine with us. We were attending a friend's wedding on Saturday, and we wanted to get a place to stay that was pet-friendly so we could bring Rory. (He turned one on Saturday - and you can't abandon a dog in a kennel on his birthday! What kind of unfit parents would we be??)

So, we rented this "rustic" cottage in the country, and everything was going great. We brought some groceries, the owner left us homemade cream of mushroom soup, and we spent time reading on the deck and going to the beach as well as attending a lovely wedding.

We let our dishes build up in the sink yesterday, soaking in some soapy water. This morning we woke up early, packed, and set about tidying the cottage. I filled up the sink with fresh water and washed the dishes while Peter dried. What a little tag team.

When the dishes were done I drained the water and reached down into the suds to grab the gunk out of the drain and throw it in the garbage, as you do.

I grabbed something soft. I assumed it was a soaked piece of bagel.

IT WAS A DEAD MOUSE.

I screamed and ran into the bathroom and slammed the door, hysterically shrieking and dry-heaving. Peter thought I'd cut myself and was bleeding to death. Finally, he was able to deduce my screeches, got the dead mouse out of the sink and threw it away while I scrubbed my hands for a good 10 minutes and tried not to barf or cry.

We assume the mouse went for a peanut-buttery knife we'd left in the sink, fell in the water and the rest is history.

And it was only after we'd packed our car and were well on our way that we realized: Those dishes we'd washed, dried, and put away, ready for the next renters to use? Had spent the night soaking in the same water as a dead mouse.

Moral of the story: When you rent a house, cottage, cabin, whatever, wash the dishes before you eat off them, even if they look clean.

We may have stayed there before you.