Of Mice and (Wo)Men

I have VERMIN in my house! VERMIN! I am so deeply disturbed by this that I can hardly bear to think of it. I know that some would consider the two cats and the dog as very likely candidates for the vermin, but the vermin does not take such snuggleable forms, alas. Nope. It’s mice. Eeeewwwww! I don’t know if I’m missing some kind of Beatrix Potter gene or what, but rodents make me crazy, and not in a good way. I turn into the lady from Tom & Jerry who jumps on the chair and starts shrieking whenever Jerry appears. In fact, this is exactly the same thing that I do!

Here is the story. After my Stampin’ Up Hostess Appreciation Party and open house on Saturday afternoon, I was shuffling around, putting stuff away, scheming about my next events, etc. I noticed the the girls were very interested in the back corner of the dining room, where we keep all the extra leaves and pads for the table. Silly me, I walked over there, all curious, asking, “Whatcha got, kitties?” I moved the leaves around, thinking it would be an ant or spider or a Q-Tip (don’t ask). And then. And then, oh GULP. And then it scurried.  A dark grey thing with a long tail. I did what any educated and mature person would do: I started screaming at the top of my lungs and jumped on the nearest chair, holding my skirt up around my waist, because I’m sure that helps somehow. The cats, much upset by my piercing screams, scampered off, and Chad came bounding through the door, “Why are you screaming like that!?” (He thinks I over-react sometimes, isn’t that weird?) I very calmly and coherently explained: “THERE IS A MOUSE (EEEWWWW) BEHIND THE TABLE LEAVES AND YOU HAVE TO KILL IT!!!!”

“Ok, but I don’t think you should be screaming like that. Get me my flashlight and the little vacuum from upstairs,” he answered, army crawling on the floor peering, under furniture.

“Huh uh!” I answered. “I don’t want mice in my vacuum!” But I got it for him anyways. Then I went into the craft room and tried to not listen in to all the battling in the dining room. He chased it all along the wall, through all the table leaves, along the outside wall, and into the piano. Awesome. There is now a mouse living in my piano. To top it off, Chad says, after pulling out the piano, “Gross! This is the grossest floor I’ve ever seen in my life! There is so much hair back here!” Thus insulting my cleaning abilities, which I must admit, are pretty darn good. It’s just, who pulls out the piano on a regular basis? My granny probably does, but I don’t. That thing is heavy.

Meanwhile, Kristen, Erica, and the kids have pulled into the driveway–we’re all going to the fair tonight. I rush out, distraught, white-faced, breathless: “There is a mouse! I can’t! You must! HELP!” Kristen the Very Brave comes in to help. But unfortunately, even her courageous prowess is not enough to catch that dumb mouse. We tell the girls to CATCH AND KILL THAT MOUSE! and then we go to the fair.

Fast forward to last night, and I am sitting in my dark craft room, surfing the internet, oblivious to the sounds of cat-shuffling in the background. They are always scuffling with each other, so I’m not thinking it’s anything special. But it keeps coming closer and closer. I turn around as they come scampering into my room, and in front of them, a Dark Shadow scurries. I pull my feet up, turn my back, close my eyes, and start screaming (again), “Chad! The mouseisinhereandthecatsarechasingit and YOU HAVE TO COME IN HERE AND SAVE ME! CHAD! CHAD!” And he comes rushing in, yelling, “You have to stop screaming like that! The neighbors are going to think something is going on and they’ll call the cops!”  (you know, they didn’t call the cops, which makes me worry about the time that we really are being murdered in our beds and no one thinks to call the police, but anyways).

Long story short, the mouse ran under the crack in the closet door in my craft room. Chad loaded some traps with cheese and peanut butter, and we’re just waiting for it, that lovely SNAP sound. The cats are hanging out in here with me now, noses under the closet door.

So I’m a rodent coward. But I’m not afraid of snakes. In fact, I kind of like them. So I’m not all shrill and girly about things.