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Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Mouse Adventures
Everyone is in bed except me. I hear the cat making a "I caught a mouse"
noise from my son's room. I go in there and the cat drops the mouse. I
can't see well enough with the hallway light, so I turn on the bedroom
light. Brennan wakes up just in time to see the mouse "come back to
life" and make a run for it. Now, I do not allow my children to use foul
language . . . but, Brennan saying "Holy Sh*t!"
out of a dead sleep after seeing a mouse dart across the floor and his
Dad and a cat pouncing after it . . . I think was entirely acceptable.
(I did grab the mouse and chuck him into the cold night. I am hoping
that he was dinner for an Owl, but more likely has slipped back inside
for round two later tonight with the cat.)
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The Mouse Chronicles continue tonight. Warning: this chapter is not PETA friendly. And yes, I know I have a mouse problem, probably should get an exterminator out here.... But, that's why I have cats... Right? So, when we last left our hero he was on the couch... Yup... Same scene, different night. Cat catches mouse in kitchen, takes mouse to her boy's room. This time the light is still on... He fell asleep with light on. So no panicked profanity. Cat drops mouse, her trusty side kick (me), pounces before Mickey can get his feet. The rest of the story involves a tennis racket and a near record flight of a common field mouse. You can look at this as cruel, or perhaps a semi-fictional start to a new children's book?
ReplyDeleteTim Galovan: Call Billy the Exterminator or john Mcenroe. Billy can probably help with the mouse problem but I don't think he'll be able to help with your fore hand.
ReplyDeleteThomas Davidson:
I may consider VexCon. However, McEnroe is not needed. The action of the tennis racket was much more akin to a catapult, or Trebuchet. I did not want to hit the little fella, but, merely launch him into a new zip code. When he left my yard, his only ailments were a cat bite and a general distaste for pudgy bald men with Tennis rackets. The condition of the new pilot mouse (who has now been named "Charles Lindbergher") upon his "landing" was up to him. "Tuck and roll, tuck and roll."
She caught another one last night. I am getting a bit cruel now. She took the mouse into the boy's room and dropped it . . . off it goes, under clothes, behind toy castle . . . I grab it, and chuck the poor thing in the pool. It has a nice swim for a few minutes. I decide that this is actually too cruel. Enter the tennis racket again. But, this time no launch, just a tool to see how long Mouse Cousteau can hold his breath. Turns out, not very long. Then the Wilson Trebuchet came into play to launch the expired diver into the dark. RIP varmit.
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