Tuesday, July 28, 2009

another little mouse in the house

on saturday morning, me and the beebs got up and went through our usual routine: we checked sports center (her favorite top ten plays of the day were all from soccer), checked in with all of her stuffed guys, read a book, stretched our legs, and then decided to have some breakfast.

i had noticed the night before that our cat tiny was awfully interested in the cabinet under the sink in the kitchen, but i didn't stop to think why. he's a weird little guy and he gets fixated on parts of the house. it's not unusual to see him stalking a particular corner or doorway.

anyway, as we sat down to eat, i thought i could hear a faint rustling coming from behind the cabinet door. tiny could hear it too (could hear it all along), and he was right there once again. i had a pretty good idea what was behind door number one, and as i slowly opened it... there was nothing. well, there was the massive amount of crap we stick under there, but aside from that, nothing out of the ordinary.

but wait, was that mouse poop i saw? i had bebe taste it, and she confirmed my original hypothesis: it was mouse poop. from a mouse. she had once eaten cat poop, so in a strange way it made sense to me that she would then recognize mouse poop. i didn't feed it directly to her though, i just mixed it in with her oatmeal. all you other 'dad of the year' finalists can sit this one out. i'd like to thank the academy... anyway, when she got to the "brown" parts, she made a sour face, and that about sealed the deal.

so now, i began to slowly unload things from the space: first the bag of near empty cat food. next, the full bag. after that, the trash bags... and finally, peering around some cleaners and lightbulbs i saw... nothing. he could have made a hasty retreat, it's true. but i opened the door just seconds after hearing the last rustling noise. shouldn't i have at least seen a tale? a whisker?

then, suddenly from behind, the empty cat food bag swayed. hmm... as i peered down into the bottom of the bag, a plump grey mouse looked back up at me. all that stuff about staring into the abyss came back to me, but i was confused. did that mean i was looking into this mouse? and was he looking into me? what did that mean? and in actuality, i was looking into the bag, at the mouse. therefore, was the bag also looking into me? were they ganging up on me, the mouse and this bag? who the hell did they think they were? why were they looking into me? and what did they see?

a thick "plop" hit the floor at my foot, breaking the terrible hold on this chain of thought that had bewitched me. damn you, philosophy. damn you. if it weren't for bebe's wayward oatmeal blob, i might still be standing there. of course, i may also have achieved enlightenment and risen to a higher plane of existence. damn you, oatmeal. damn you. and that's not even the first time oatmeal has interfered in my life. once, when i was seven and travelling by train to... nevermind. i'm not going to dignify oatmeal with any more bloggage (that's 'blog coverage' and i just made it up. feel free to throw that one around at parties and such) or free publicity. why yes, i'd love more coffee. where was i?

yes! the bag. it moved. there was a mouse in the bag. he couldn't quite get out, though much to my girly horror (i hear that girls are afraid of mice) he sure kept trying, jumping up, up, up towards the mouth of the open bag. i screamed, which startled him, and he fell back down to the bottom of the bag. i closed it up, pinned it shut with a potato-chip bag clip, and took the next logical step: i finished breakfast. we put the bag on top of the trash can and ate while the bag rocked back and forth, occasionally making little "skritch, skritch" sounds. tiny was beside himself. he didn't know what to do, but he had seen what happened to me and the mouse and the bag, and his brain is even smaller than mine. you do the math.

in the end, we decided to take the mouse out in the wee hours of the morning, and let him go near the community gardens across the street. bebe and i knew that there would be plenty for him to eat, and we didn't have a garden there, so what did we care?

in spite of the constant shaking, bebe held on like a champ. those are some strong mitts on that kid (we don't call her ol' banana hands for nuthin').

mere moments before his exodus to what would probably be the promised land. some exile- tasty flowers and fruits and veggies and plenty of space to hide... i should have written the bible. those people would have ended up a lot happier. just sayin'.

TA-DA! i tried to get a picture of him/her running out, but he/she was fast! enjoy the fruits of our neighbor's labor, little mouse! you're welcome!

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