Friday, November 24, 2006

Losing the war

I had it. I had it, and I let it go. I've not experienced disappointment like this since I was 12 and my mom got me a red mountain bike for Christmas instead of a pink and grey skinny-tired 10-speed like all the cool girls had.

I spotted the little fucker slowly creeping across the basement floor and, given that my basement is packed full of crap, I was at no loss for makeshift mouse traps. From a stack of retired dinner dishes, I selected a heavy coffee mug and slammed it over the top of the rodent. And then I stared at it, which did absolutely nothing to help the situation.

When the little escape artist pushed its head under the rim of the mug, I had to make a decision - stand on the mug long enough to strangle it, or attempt to adjust the mug and recapture it so I could continue staring at it. I chose recapture, which didn't go precisely as I'd hoped.

As it scurried off, I had a moment to note that this little mouse didn't look a whole lot like the one hanging out in the kitchen. That little mouse was cute, perky, trim. This little mouse looked tired, cranky, bloated, and in desperate need of a drink. And as it ran off, I detected a distinct waddle. If I'm not mistaken, she done got knocked up.

Note to self: next time, stand on mug.

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