But then I looked up and realized Pink was actually sitting next to me on the couch. Hmm. That's odd. So, my next assumption was that there was a branch and/or serial killer scratching on my front window, right beyond the tree. Initially terrified and then annoyed (because, HI KILLER, I'm trying to WORK), I realized that neither was the culprit as there are no trees within scratching distance of my window and my husband has assured me that IT'S NOT A SERIAL KILLER, WIFE.
Then the noise registered. I set the computer down slowly and turned off the fan to get a better listen. I only got about half-way to the tree because for a moment I considered the possibility of a squirrel jumping out at me from behind the twinkle lights with rabid fury.
But since that only happens in movies and my waking dreams, I concluded that it was, in fact, a mouse. Definitely a fucking mouse. I texted a friend to lament my position of having to sit in close proximity to a mouse while trying to focus on work and she was all IT MIGHT BE A RAT.
She's not my friend anymore.
It's not that I'm afraid of mice, per say, as much as my wussy disposition might suggest. It's that the very thought of a mouse in my house brings back anxious memories of Dr. Seuss, of course, but also having to deal with mice in previous homes and apartments.
The first incident was in college when I was student teaching in Saranac Lake. I was staying in this old converted cottage and the mice simply came and went during the winter. Being the slovenly college kid that I was, the cookies on my dresser weren't helping. When I heard a mousetrap go off one evening (that the landlord had set), I wasn't prepared for THE BLOOD OHMYGOD THE BLOOD nor the fact that the thing might still be ALIVE. Shit, guys, it was horrifying to see the thing squirm, and I was certain it all meant I was hellbound. God might overlook the partying and drugs (and foul language), but THIS? THIS IS A MOTHERFUCKING CRIME SCENE! But what do I do? Let it die a slow, painful, noisy, awkward death? OF COURSE NOT!
So, I took the critically injured mouse and drowned it. Which, I realize makes ME sound like the serial killer, but at 2:00 am, I couldn't think of a more humane way to deal with the situation.
I'm sure you can see how this was a scarring event. I mean, all I knew of mice 'til then was freakin' Fievel, and NOW I'VE MURDERED HIM.
The next incident came about ten years later. I have a newborn in a small home I'm renting with Husband in a rural location of the Hudson Valley. Husband is away for work and I realize that the cats have taken to staring furiously at the stove every evening. It freaks me out, sure, but I'm not about to pull the stove out. There might be a SERIAL KILLER in there for chrissakes. Avoidance will get you everywhere, I say.
Well, one morning, the little mouse got ballsy enough to emerge. I woke to an insane scurrying, items falling off of tables, and some *twitch* squeaking. I suppressed the flashbacks and resolved to handle the situation before the baby woke. Because the idea of a germy mouse mixed in with my baby was seriously triggering some major anxiety. After about twenty minutes, I managed to corner the thing in the bathroom. But before I could do much else, I heard the baby stirring in his bedroom. So, again, I handled the situation in the most ridiculous way possible, and began flooding the bathroom.
No, I took Pink, the cat, and threw him in there with the mouse. Cats are better equipped to deal with these creatures than I AM, right?!
Yeah, NO. After about five minutes of some commotion, the room fell silent. Assuming he ate the thing, I decided I'd deal with the mess during nap time in a few hours. Which is when I opened the door to find my asshole cat sleeping on a pile of towels while the mouse sniffed around the radiator.
In the end, I had to pick the thing up by the tail and toss it outside. Then I peeled off all my skin and burned it in a pyre to get rid of the cooties.
And this event REPEATED ITSELF about a week later when his fatter, darker brother paid a visit. I'm glad skin rejuvenates.
So, back to our current infestation. The guy makes an appearance regularly while I work and sometimes during the day. And for now, I think we'll be cool as long as he doesn't emerge from the ceiling vent or something. I mean, surely the thing won't get inside THIS TIME, RIGHT?! HAHAHA! AHAHAHA. Haha. *sob*
No, but seriously, if it does, I'll have no choice but to burn the house down. Let's just hope it's not the Christmas Mouse.
PS: Didactic Pirate and I totally got all matchy-matchy today which is super embarrassing. Even more so because his post doesn't make his ass look quite as fat. Go read his mouse story here.