Tuesday, November 14, 2006

More house guests

First it was the ants. Then it was the stench. Now it’s a mouse.

Friday night I was startled to see a tiny brown fur ball fling itself under my oven. I spotted him in the kitchen a few more times that night, and set out don’t-kill-‘em traps the next day (cuz who wants to snap the neck of a cute little furry brown mouse?) I didn’t see the little bugger again until last night, when he went scurrying out my bedroom door as I changed into my pjs.

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Contaminating my food is one thing. But hanging out in my bedroom? Nope. Not gonna happen.

And that is precisely what I yelled at him as he fled down the hall to the broom closet. I quickly put on my shoes (because who wants a cute little furry brown mouse scuttling across her bare feet? eew.), quietly snuck up on my broom closet and, taking a fighter’s stance, THREW OPEN THE DOOR!!!

Nothing happened – a good thing because, prepared with nothing else, my only guess is that my plan was to catch him with my bare hands. Thankfully, Mr. Mouse chose to stay hidden behind the extra leaf of my dining room table. I stared at the tip of his tail, which was peeking out from behind the leaf, and wondered what to do next. Mr. Mouse, growing impatient with his own wondering about what I might do next, decided to peek his head out from the other side of the extra leaf and stare back at me. And there we stood.

I tried reasoning with him. I explained that I simply couldn’t have a mouse living with me. I promised that if he walked to the kitchen door, I would open it and let him run free to the night, that I didn’t want to hurt him, but that he really must go.

He continued to stare at me, defiantly egging me on.

I slowly began removing the contents of the broom closet. No longer so sure of himself, Mr. Mouse nervously paced back and forth along the back wall of the closet. As I grabbed the broom, Mr. Mouse saw his chance for escape and I, like generations of women before me, found myself chasing after a mouse with broom as weapon.

And the little bastard ran right back into my bedroom. Never have I been so aware of all the crap on my floor as when trying to guess where a small rodent might be hiding. Damn me and my inability to do laundry in a timely manner! So, again, I tried to reason with him. This time I sweetened the deal and told him he didn’t even have to leave the house, just please get out of my bedroom so I can go to sleep! Instead, he ran from under my dresser and disappeared into my closet, clearly disregarding the 11th commandment: Thou shalt not defile my shoes with your dirty little mouse turds.

Then out of the closet and under the bed where – again, why in God’s name is there so much crap under my bed? – he managed to hide for another 20 minutes before finally fleeing to the living room and disappearing into the air intake vent on the floor.

Make no mistake, Mr. Mouse. You may have won the battle, but I intend to win this is war.

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