Under Siege.
First a boring administrative note: It has come to my attention that some people are still sending email to my old address, largely due to them not being psychic and me switching email accounts a few months ago without changing the “Email Me” link in my sidebar. I have now updated the link, so feel free to flood me with mail I will actually receive and respond to. Oh, all right, receive.
There was a mouse. In our house. I would like to say that I was unfazed by this discovery, but truthfully, I was fazed. Extremely fazed. I hate to be a cliche, and am generally annoyed by screamy creature-phobic girls, but that didn’t stop me from having a panic attack and sobbing disconsolately that I would never feel safe again.
I have always been somewhat fearful by nature, much to the Actually’s amusement. He is particularly scornful of my deep, deep fear and hatred of Jack-in-the-Boxes (Jacks-in-the-Box?), though I have grudgingly extracted from him a promise that no Jack-in-the-Box will ever darken our doorstep. The Actually received a keyboard for Christmas and recently hit upon the brilliant idea of waiting until I have gone to sleep and then hauling the keyboard into the bedroom, placing it next to my head, and playing soft, scary haunted house music until I wake up. Finding a man in your bedroom with a giant keyboard is arguably more frightening than waking to haunted house music, by the way. And remind me to tell you about the time the Actually decided to scare me out of the hiccups by saying he was leaving me. He’s a laugh riot, that one. Anyway, given his propensity for hilarity, when the Actually woke me to say there was a mouse in the living room, I initially thought he was kidding.
But it was not a joke, it was a rodent. A live rodent.
The cats were delighted. Oddly, pale delicate Irma proved to be the most efficient mouser, trotting happily around with the creature in her mouth, dropping it to bat it about again, and looking furious when it scuttled away. Alas, the cats didn’t seem to have any real interest in killing the mouse. Or maybe they did, but didn’t know how to go about it. Apparently cats must be taught by their mothers how to deliver the fatal bite, and I’m afraid I have been remiss in this area. My brother compared them to fifth grade boys with girls: they have the instincts, they know they’re supposed to do something, but they aren’t sure what.
The mouse is still at large.
I have nothing against mice in general. In fact, I am perfectly willing to grant mice unfettered access to the following venues:
1. Fields
2. The Woods
3. Cages
4. Abandoned farmhouses
I don’t think I am being unreasonable, but unless a mouse is going to start kicking in on the rent, I would rather not have it in my home, where it could skitter up the comforter at night and nibble on my hair. Or surprise me at the bottom of a box of cereal. Or flaunt its fertility with a fluffy nest of wormy mouse babies.
There have been no further sightings. The Actually has boarded up all likely entry points, and I have tried to continue my life as if no nude rodent tail had ever swished over my dining room floor.
And yet every night before I fall asleep, I find myself listening for the skritchy skritchy sound of a mouse behind the walls, planning its return.
*cue haunted house music, on keyboard*
15 Comments
Things have just gotten eerie, as I HATE jack-in-the-boxes (?) too. I don’t like sudden movements and noises, so those things are too much for me to handle. As a kid I would make someone else wind it up whilst I safely sat 10 feet away, bracing myself for the popping up of the Jack.
Needless to say, I will never be buying P. one of those instruments of the devil.
Ugh. I hate rodents. Okay I admit it, I am one of those screamy creature-phobic girls.
Let’s face it, Alexa. Even if the mouse *did* start paying rent, you still wouldn’t want it around keeping you company. Not that I blame you. There are plenty of abandoned farm houses for it to go.
You know, I am not generally a fearful person. I used to think life had mostly killed my fear until Monday when I had my first appointment with an MRI machine. An open MRI machine. The very nice technician strapped me down and wheeled me under the circle, where I hyperventilated profusely and had to come back out again. I’ve got a new appointment for Thursday with some Ativan in tow but it gives me the heebie-jeebies just to think about it. If I had to feel this way all the time because my phobia was in my house? I don’t think I’d be doing nearly as well as you are!
Yesterday our cat got a mole. I called my husband to come home from work to take care of it, although the conversation was really a lot of me shuddering audibly and saying “the cat got a…it’s not a mouse…it’s grosser!”
I hate mice - plain and simple. When we moved into our house the woman who lived there before us for her whole 88 years had an infestation of mice. Not one, not 6, but dozens. Perhaps the numerous droppings in the attic should have clued us in, but alas, we were desperate to find a house with 4 walls in our meager price range so we ignored the obvious. The mice even made me so desperate that we lived with the inlaws for 3 weeks until we were assured they were gone. ( note, we also did not have a bathroom since we were “working on it” but that did not stop me from living there.)
Mice suck, plain and simple. If you want no more, you (Ms. cat mom) better get on the floor and train those kitties to hunt this sucker. Just writing that gives me the chills….
When I was younger, I had a cat who was also a less-than-stellar mouser. She would bring them upstairs from the basement and just let them go in the part of the house the rest of us lived in and then she would forget about them. But she would let me dress her up in doll clothes and push her around the neighborhood in a stroller, so I thought we were even.
My dad did not forget about the mice and decided to shoot them with a BB gun. He made my brother and I hide in the living room while he did it. Clearly my mother was not home at the time.
Sigh. That story totally tells you we are natives of West Virginia, doesn’t it.
It’s like waking up in the middle of the night and finding a big fat hairy spider on your ceiling.
Mice don’t bother me. Although I say that without being faced with having to share my home with one - I might feel different if I did. Our kitty used to bring all kinds of little ‘presents’ to our doorstep - all skillfully killed without letting a drop of blood. I found I quite endearing - I know, sick. Sometimes though they do just like playing with them. I suspect your cats could have killed it if they had wanted to. But they like to play with them.
Spiders do it for me though. I will scream at a spider. Stand on the furniture and scream for J to KILL IT.
I believe it’s Jacks-in-the-Boxes. Can you tell I’m a teacher?
It’s “jacks-in-the-box,” Teach. ;) Like “mothers-in-law” or “attorneys general.”
I hate the creature-phobic stereotype too, but I must admit that when I see a mouse (a not-infrequent occurrence in an NYC apartment) I have been known to jump up on a chair and shriek. And the cat loves to catch and play with mice but does not kill them, except by accident through repeatedly tossing them in the air and batting them around.
Hint: steel wool, stuffed in every possible crevice. If it’s big enough to stick a pencil into, it’s big enough for a mouse to squeeze through (they have very flexible skeletons).
Vet schoo at your service: I don’t think you need to worry much abt that mouse anymore. That mouse is probably lying stifly somewhere as I type, dead of septicaemia. Cats’ teeth are like needles and a bite will inject tonnes of bacteria deep into the tissues, and an infection is sure to follow. Even while playing cats will bite - I’m afraid that mouse has met its maker.
My cockroaches are your mice, if it helps - especially if the legs are somehow glued to a cat’s whiskers, when said cat is purring in your face in the middle of the night. I aged loads.
In the “scaring your significant other” stakes, THIS guy is lucky his girlfriend didn’t cut his wedding tackle off for pulling this stunt.
Jack in the Boxes are the most evil children’s toy ever created. A clown (who is evil) springing suddenly from a box? WHO THOUGHT THAT UP?
crap. there was supposed to be a link there.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fra2ur9tAHw
If it doesn’t show up this time, sorry!
I’m late to this, but one likely entry point for rodents is around under-sink plumbing, especially those that are on outside walls. Stuff steel wool around any holes going from the plumbing into a wall; they can’t chew through it. You probaly don’t want to know why I needed this very helpful bit of information I received from an exterminator, but it involved a mouse in the wall behind our tub, licking the dripping water through the tub drain below the faucet WHILE I WAS SHOWERING. I may never be the same…