Wednesday, August 06, 2003
Attention all blog-readers! I have an important announcement to make: THERE IS A MOUSE IN MY HOUSE. Thank you.
No, I didn't write that just so I could feel like Dr. Seuss for a few seconds (although, I would have to argue he is one of the greatest minds of the last century). I'm going for a "realist" sort of issue today-- there really is a mouse in my house. Now, let me clear things up for a minute before I explain my adventures this week. I have lived for over 2 decades now (yes, I know, relatively little, but also relatively much, depending on whose relative you're coming from) and never in that time do I remember having such a rodent invade my private space like this. Of course, there've been occurrences in other situation: i.e. girls' camp, lake powell, and one summer i lived in boston-- and even then I never saw the intruder, only the souvenirs he left on our counters. However, in this case, I was thoroughly aware of a small, scurrying, furry presence near the banister leading downstairs. It all happened on Sunday night, when things are supposed to be quiet and reposeful-- appropriately, a day of rest. But that was NOT what lay in store for me as peril lay just beyond my parent's bedroom door. Let me explain. I was sitting, innocently, unaware of any pending danger, in their room watching television. They had left for Arizona a few days before and weren't supposed to return until Wednesday, leaving me to fend for myself in any and all dangerous circumstances. As the t.v. is parallel to their door, I had a perfect view of the outside sitting area, including the banister that leads down into the basement. During this relaxing pasttime, I noticed a slight movement out of the left corner of my eye, a small dark movement, but as it disappeared when I turned to look, I assumed it was merely blindspots forming on my eyes because of countless, mindnumbing hours of watching television. Harmless, really. BUT, not 5 minutes later, I noticed this movment again-- however this time, in turning to look at the movement in question, it most certainly did NOT disappear when I stared directly at it. On the contrary it moved slightly closer, in a suspiciously scurrying sort of manner. At which point I found the most helpful (or at least most prominent thought on my mind and therefore the only thing I could imagine doing) was to let out a terrified squeal as I leapt off the bed toward the object for further examination. Whereon the furry object decidedly scurried behind a plant, obscuring my view of its escape. As I had a perfect panorama of everything on either side of the plant, my only conscious thought was that the mouse had scurried into it. This plant is one of those horrid kind with fake straw-looking moss filling the pot, which I assumed (wrongly) would be a perfect place for a mouse to reside. All the while this is going on, my lungs continue to involuntarily emit small bursts of air, followed by slightly whimpering sounds. I had no idea my body could react with such instinctive fight-or-flight reactions. In this case, the shoe in my hand showed I was ready to fight, but the escaping gasps showed my body felt otherwise.
It was only then I realized that all the blinds in my house were open, and seeing how it was 10:00 pm, it suddenly came to mind that every curious Tom, Dick and Harry could see me crouching down on the ground around this plant with a shoe in my hand, ready to attack. And if they were close enough, they could have audibly heard the turmoil I was in. This had the effect of immediately calming me down, at least long enough for me to close the blinds and assume my position again. It was also then that I realized 2 things: my heart was beating faster than if I'd just finished the Tour de France, and there was NO way I was handling this alone. Those are the times it comes in handy to have cousins nearby. My cousin Barrett was practically born outside and is a regular MacGuyver in any distressing situation. His wife, Becca, served a mission in Guatemala where she apparently lived in mouse-infested quarters on a regular basis. When they heard my frantic voice and probably my heart beating over the phone (after first picking themselves off the floor from blatant and uncontrollable laughter) they rushed right over and began the hunt. First, they cleared up the false impression I had that the mouse was STILL hiding in the plant. What I had not noticed (or been aware of) is that mice can JUMP. (Now, just tell me that isn't a creepy thought.) What I wasn't able to see from being on the other side of the plant, is that it was a mere 6 foot drop off the banister onto the stairs that lead into the basement. So of course all this time I was crouched futilely in front of this plastic tree, Dangermouse and all his buddies were laughing at me a safe distance of 12 feet BELOW me and the broom I had since included in my artillery. SO... then the hunt REALLY began as we opened closets, pulled out furniture, opened cupboards.. all to no avail. My ignorance had allowed far too long of an escape time, and he was lost. My wonderfully loving cousins (who were still having a hard time containing themselves and controlling their laughter) were aware of my obvious distress and offered me a bed at their place. I was in my pajamas in about 2 seconds and running out the door without shoes, just to be away from that horrible place I used to call home. Of course, the next day I was able to go back with a little more perspective, as well as armed with four newly-bought mouse traps. Ha! Who's Dangermouse now? heh-heh...
Well, obviously he's smarter than I thought because the traps have yet to produce any sign of a mouse. But at least the concept has sunk into my head-- it is possible for a small, furry intruder to interrupt my Sunday repose. Knowing is half the battle, right? I found it interesting that I reacted the way I did. It was positively like being in a bad sit-com, with a delicate housewife squealing and squawking like a cornered animal at a creepy house-invader. Isn't it strange that something about 100th our size can sometimes make us act that way? Especially something that poses no real threat if you have a shoe handy. You probably think you're so cool-headed and unphased by most anything, but put you alone in a house at night, and have an unexpected visitor that creeps or scurries or scampers around on 4 legs distrurb your otherwise cozy evening-- THEN we'll see what you're made of. I suggest that after you're done shrieking, you call my cousins.
No, I didn't write that just so I could feel like Dr. Seuss for a few seconds (although, I would have to argue he is one of the greatest minds of the last century). I'm going for a "realist" sort of issue today-- there really is a mouse in my house. Now, let me clear things up for a minute before I explain my adventures this week. I have lived for over 2 decades now (yes, I know, relatively little, but also relatively much, depending on whose relative you're coming from) and never in that time do I remember having such a rodent invade my private space like this. Of course, there've been occurrences in other situation: i.e. girls' camp, lake powell, and one summer i lived in boston-- and even then I never saw the intruder, only the souvenirs he left on our counters. However, in this case, I was thoroughly aware of a small, scurrying, furry presence near the banister leading downstairs. It all happened on Sunday night, when things are supposed to be quiet and reposeful-- appropriately, a day of rest. But that was NOT what lay in store for me as peril lay just beyond my parent's bedroom door. Let me explain. I was sitting, innocently, unaware of any pending danger, in their room watching television. They had left for Arizona a few days before and weren't supposed to return until Wednesday, leaving me to fend for myself in any and all dangerous circumstances. As the t.v. is parallel to their door, I had a perfect view of the outside sitting area, including the banister that leads down into the basement. During this relaxing pasttime, I noticed a slight movement out of the left corner of my eye, a small dark movement, but as it disappeared when I turned to look, I assumed it was merely blindspots forming on my eyes because of countless, mindnumbing hours of watching television. Harmless, really. BUT, not 5 minutes later, I noticed this movment again-- however this time, in turning to look at the movement in question, it most certainly did NOT disappear when I stared directly at it. On the contrary it moved slightly closer, in a suspiciously scurrying sort of manner. At which point I found the most helpful (or at least most prominent thought on my mind and therefore the only thing I could imagine doing) was to let out a terrified squeal as I leapt off the bed toward the object for further examination. Whereon the furry object decidedly scurried behind a plant, obscuring my view of its escape. As I had a perfect panorama of everything on either side of the plant, my only conscious thought was that the mouse had scurried into it. This plant is one of those horrid kind with fake straw-looking moss filling the pot, which I assumed (wrongly) would be a perfect place for a mouse to reside. All the while this is going on, my lungs continue to involuntarily emit small bursts of air, followed by slightly whimpering sounds. I had no idea my body could react with such instinctive fight-or-flight reactions. In this case, the shoe in my hand showed I was ready to fight, but the escaping gasps showed my body felt otherwise.
It was only then I realized that all the blinds in my house were open, and seeing how it was 10:00 pm, it suddenly came to mind that every curious Tom, Dick and Harry could see me crouching down on the ground around this plant with a shoe in my hand, ready to attack. And if they were close enough, they could have audibly heard the turmoil I was in. This had the effect of immediately calming me down, at least long enough for me to close the blinds and assume my position again. It was also then that I realized 2 things: my heart was beating faster than if I'd just finished the Tour de France, and there was NO way I was handling this alone. Those are the times it comes in handy to have cousins nearby. My cousin Barrett was practically born outside and is a regular MacGuyver in any distressing situation. His wife, Becca, served a mission in Guatemala where she apparently lived in mouse-infested quarters on a regular basis. When they heard my frantic voice and probably my heart beating over the phone (after first picking themselves off the floor from blatant and uncontrollable laughter) they rushed right over and began the hunt. First, they cleared up the false impression I had that the mouse was STILL hiding in the plant. What I had not noticed (or been aware of) is that mice can JUMP. (Now, just tell me that isn't a creepy thought.) What I wasn't able to see from being on the other side of the plant, is that it was a mere 6 foot drop off the banister onto the stairs that lead into the basement. So of course all this time I was crouched futilely in front of this plastic tree, Dangermouse and all his buddies were laughing at me a safe distance of 12 feet BELOW me and the broom I had since included in my artillery. SO... then the hunt REALLY began as we opened closets, pulled out furniture, opened cupboards.. all to no avail. My ignorance had allowed far too long of an escape time, and he was lost. My wonderfully loving cousins (who were still having a hard time containing themselves and controlling their laughter) were aware of my obvious distress and offered me a bed at their place. I was in my pajamas in about 2 seconds and running out the door without shoes, just to be away from that horrible place I used to call home. Of course, the next day I was able to go back with a little more perspective, as well as armed with four newly-bought mouse traps. Ha! Who's Dangermouse now? heh-heh...
Well, obviously he's smarter than I thought because the traps have yet to produce any sign of a mouse. But at least the concept has sunk into my head-- it is possible for a small, furry intruder to interrupt my Sunday repose. Knowing is half the battle, right? I found it interesting that I reacted the way I did. It was positively like being in a bad sit-com, with a delicate housewife squealing and squawking like a cornered animal at a creepy house-invader. Isn't it strange that something about 100th our size can sometimes make us act that way? Especially something that poses no real threat if you have a shoe handy. You probably think you're so cool-headed and unphased by most anything, but put you alone in a house at night, and have an unexpected visitor that creeps or scurries or scampers around on 4 legs distrurb your otherwise cozy evening-- THEN we'll see what you're made of. I suggest that after you're done shrieking, you call my cousins.
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