At the end of a beautiful Summer night we were sitting at the kitchen island chatting about our day. From the corner of my eye I see something.
“Oh, my God! I think I saw a mouse!”.
“No, you didn’t”.
(That type of remark never fails to hit a nerve)
“What do you mean, no I didn’t?”
“You really think you did? Where?”
“From under the stove, I think it ran and passed through the air conditioning vent at the bottom of the cabinet”
“There is NO WAY a mouse can pass through THAT. Don’t worry, you didn’t see anything”
(I wasn’t particularly thrilled, but accepted that maybe it was all part of my vivid imagination)
TWENTY MINUTES LATER….
I get up to grab a glass of water in the fridge. I know, I know, it’s always me. Never anyone else.
A gray mouse dashes between me and the fridge, and hides behind the trash can.
(Insert high-pitched scream here)
“You see? You see? I TOLD YOU! Why don’t you EVER BELIEVE ME? You think I’m some kind of a Drama Queen, don’t you? So there you have it: THERE WAS A MOUSE ALL ALONG! We’ve probably been living with this monster for months, maybe there is more than one, maybe there is a whole family, but NOOOOOO, “you didn’t see a mouse, Sally”.
“Ok, ok, I am sorry. We do have a mouse. I tell you what, let’s get the dogs to take care of him”.
So we devised this perfect plan. First, Phil stood by the trash can with a broom ready in case the creature decided to run away. Then, doing my best to stop shaking, I locked Chief in his cage, and brought Oscar and Buck to the war zone. I was actually quite optimistic, having witnessed more than once Buck retrieving and killing snakes in our backyard.
“Ready boys? Ready boys? There’s a mouse, there’s a mouse, GO GET IT!”
(Phil moves the trash can. No action, apart from my preemptive screaming)
“Where IS the mouse?”
“I don’t know, maybe it went inside the trash can, let’s see”
“NOOOOOOOOOOO! Don’t open it here, if the mouse jumps out I WILL have a heart attack and die, I SWEAR I WILL. You simply cannot open it here. How can you even CONSIDER doing that?
(I think the husband sighed)
“OK, FINE! I will carry it all the way to the garage and open it there if that makes you happy.”
I did not care for his tone a bit, but was too terror-stricken to let him have a piece of my mind. Plus, the “all the way to the garage” is a few steps, but “I” am the Drama Queen. How unfair is that, can you even stand it?
As he is moving the trash can, the rodent pops from underneath, runs like Usain Bolt, ignores my crazed screaming, and passes right by Oscar’s nose. Our valiant dog BACKED AWAY FROM IT, as if afraid, disgusted or a mixture of both. Buck? He was already laying in his bed, oblivious to the whole thing.
Mouse disappeared under the stove. Five minutes later he pops up out of who knows where over the countertop by the sink, sprints in front of my beautiful salt and pepper bowls, jumps and dives through the opening of the stove burner!
In a complete state of mental disarray, I called it a day. Left the kitchen after informing Oscar and Buck that – effective immediately – they were on a diet.
Phil set up a mouse trap with ham and peanut butter and placed it under the stove. The beast was pronounced dead next morning, around 5:25am, when we entered the premises to have our cappuccino.
Never a dull moment, my friends. Never a dull moment.
TWO YEARS AGO: The Manhattan Project
THREE YEARS AGO: Carrot “Nib” Orzo
FOUR YEARS AGO: A Sticky Situation
FIVE YEARS AGO: The Garden