Like a 1950s Stereotype

Sunday morning, as I sat reading the newspaper and drinking my coffee, I heard a crash from the second bedroom/office. I looked up and saw the cat come barreling around the corner into the living room like she was chasing something.

"What have you got?" says I, standing up to get a better look. "Have you got a bug?"

It was not a bug.

It was a mouse. A real, live mouse.

I promptly shrieked for Brandon and hopped up on the kitchen counter. My shrieking awoke him from a sound sleep and he came barreling out of the bedroom, thinking the house was on fire, just as Cleo chased the mouse under the sofa.

I had no idea I was such a big girl about mice, but apparently, I really really am. Bugs don't particularly bother me; I mean, I'm not a huge fan, but when you grow up where the roaches are the size of your hand, you learn to deal.

Anyway, the chase ensued. Brandon got out a bunch of towels and blocked off doorways and under bookshelves and stuff, hoping to chase it out the patio door. I did my part by holding the squirming, flailing cat under one arm and the mag-light in the other. We moved the sofa and got it pinned under one of the bookshelves. Brandon tried to scare it out with a broom, but it wasn't having any. So we decided to let the cat try to flush it out. I let her go, and the mouse came RIGHT AT ME.

I shrieked again.

The mouse went around the corner towards the laundry room and tried to hide in some towels Brandon had used to block the door. Brandon saw it and slammed a large bowl down on the towels to try to catch the mouse.

By a quirk of aim, the mouse was no more.

I told Brandon that he had definitely earned his keep as a husband that day, and we made a pact that he would deal with rodents and I could deal with reptiles.

He checked and it was a male mouse, so hopefully we do not have baby mice living somewhere. Also, Allison confirmed my suspicion that if we hadn't seen any evidence of him before yesterday (which we hadn't) he probably hadn't been there for very long.

Of course, when we moved the sofa, we found all of Cleo's missing toys, and now, whenever she comes tearing through the house chasing after something, I have to quell the urge to jump up on the counter and scream.