Monday, May 18, 2009
Here's how it went down. I saunter through the door one night, bags in hand, straight into the vortex of chaos. I see our entire entryway, from front door up staircase, covered in contents that hours ago I swore were neatly tucked in place in our son's room. JohnnyMac greets me at the door as our son practices jumping into the lofty pile of blankets and pillows. Clearly, I know something is amiss as I watch our son gambol deeper in the disorder.
JohnnyMac informed me he came home to find a mouse perched on top of our front door blinds.
A mouse? Oh yes, a mouse. And JohnnyMac had been in hot pursuit for four hours. I wondered aloud how it could have possibly got in our house. Did we leave a door open?
Oh, city slickers. How naive. A house mouse can literally squeeze itself through an opening smaller than a pencil. Did we leave the door open? Oh brother.
JohnnyMac and I briefly confer. He has sequestered the infiltrate in our son's room. Last seen under the bed. I ask him to trap as humanely as possible so perhaps it can be set free. JohnnyMac is highly irritated in a multitude of ways. Not only at the bevy of tactical maneuvers required to corral said mouse, while removing every single item on our son's floor (including the closet) while keeping our son out of his room. And then of course, trying to actually trap the mouse. And now, my special request that he throw a little Dr. Doolittle into the mix. JohnnyMac just swallowed all that acerbity right down.
I take the Bird (another one of our son's nicknames) with me upstairs while JohnnyMac tries to flush out the invidious guest. Another hour passes. JohnnyMac returns upstairs. Defeated. He has a broom in one hand and fury in the other. We look at the clock and realize we have less than an hour until the little man needs to go to bed, and we certainly aren't rooming him with any nibbling mammal from the order Rodentia. What to do. We decide to set up the previously used pack and play in our room as a back up. Poor choice. Little man saw that and said "That's for babies!!!!" Oh boy.
JohnnyMac goes back downstairs and as time ticks by, I have no alternative but get the wee one ready and put him in his pack and play. Our child's response could only be interpreted as I DON'T THINK SO. First, our son is very long. And apparently very strong. He can get out of the pack and play more quickly than a baby ninja. It takes incredible trickery and persuasion. Finally, he stays put and proceeds to cry hard enough to choke himself. I rub his back and he fumes. Loudly. Finally, JohnnyMac comes upstairs and says the mouse is cornered under the bed.
How in the h*ll does something not even four inches long effect totally anarchy in my house. I DON'T THINK SO. We go down in the kitchen where I grab the broom, a can of raid, a box of freshly purchased decon, and go towards the stairs. JohnnyMac asks, "What are you going to do?"
Kill that Mother______.
My son will not go to sleep. He is so upset that he is basically back in a baby shoe box that his resonating wails fill our entire house. I will kill this mouse. As a last minute thought, I swap my ballet slippers for knee high galoshes hence any mouse guts splash on me. I sprinkled DeCon in the corners of the room (super smart move...spread poison in your son's room. Excellent). I then find the mouse is indeed under the bed and I immediately block all of the sides with items found in the hall. I then jam the broom handle at him about 100 mph. He runs. Up the wall. Literally. Are you KIDDING ME? Now you are Spiderman? I am going to smash you and enjoy every second.
Had I only listened carefully, I would have heard that mouse saying I DON'T THINK SO.
That mouse ran up the wall and then hid somewhere between the mattress and boxspring. I pulled that huge bed further away from the wall and that mouse jumped right on the bed. Looking at me, whispering "is that all you've got? I'm just getting warmed up."
Let me share with you something you will never do. Catch a !*&^!%!$ house mouse. I spent two more hours watching him mouse be nimble, mouse be quick, mouse go under my broom like it was a limbo stick. I was so irritated I thought I was going to hemorrhage. And as I stared at him, he slipped through a crack no bigger than a staple between the floor and the baseboard. Wonderful. I will seal you in your concrete death tomorrow.
Our child finally fell asleep because apparently herculean crying is quite fatiguing. JohnnyMac was up close and personal with a Sam Adams White Ale. We called Terminex first thing in the morning.