Sunday morning, completely out of nowhere, a mouse ran into our apartment from under the front door. she ran into the kitchen, then into the living room where my husband was (he yelled as if he’d just discovered that David Bowie died, a yelp of shock and true exasperation).
the upside to my heart medication combined with sobriety? reduced adrenaline. so when panicky stuff happens, i just go “wow. did you see that?” and then I go out to buy a mouse trap on a sunday. The gardienne, all dressed up on her way to church, wearing white over orange, sees me with a bag of mouse traps and sticky paper, and she offers to lend her cat for an hour (no joke). and i’m just smiling, and texting my sister. It must be the good heart drugs mixed with a healthy dose of sobriety. this clearly isn’t me.
i sit around with my feet UP and let husband deal.
as i hide in the office, i start singing: “he sat Miss Mousie on his knee, and he said, Miss Mousie, will you marry me? Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm.” thus, the mouse is a girl.
and then the gardienne really does arrive at the door to our apartment with her little white cat and says “here …”
Mr. B is so in love with the cat that he can’t just let her do her business. He stares at the cat, the cat stares at him, and the mouse hangs out under the couch.
text received from sister: What a great idea . You could start a rent a mouser business – if Mr. B will let them go. If puddy gets the mouse, Mr. B might want it for a pet too.
i tell Mr. B to come out of the living room and leave the cat alone. but the cat is meowing so he won’t leave her … honestly. it’s good thing we don’t have a baby … let the cat cry, i say. she’ll get the job done! but no.
i finally talk him into let the cat cry alone in the room with the mouse for 15 minutes. we set the timer. the cat meows. the mouse hides. mr. b. cringes and paces around in the last minute.
unfortunately, Mr. B. accidentally squishes miss mousie moving the couch (the mouse was up in the hide-a-bed by the end of it… and the great white hunter just cried and cried and cried …)
Mr. B says in English: “this is not for me…”
finally he traps the mouse with two pieces of cardboard … the puddy is not a hunter cat after all.
text received: The GREAT WHITE HUNTER. That must have been a really lazy mouse to allow itself to be caught with cardboard. Or she found some wine? [note to self, time to update sister on my non-drinking status, now that it’s like 2 years …]
we put the two pieces of cardboard in a giant garbage bag. and Mr. B. exits the premises. i suppose mousie met her demise after that. i asked not to be informed.
my father texts: All of this about a mouse? The other day, someone in Yellowknife had a bear in her kitchen.
to be fair, i never saw miss mousie. and it’s a good thing, too. it’s just the kind of event that i’d play over and over.
for 2 days, though i’ve been calling Mr. B the great white killer. he’s not that happy with the title. he said “il faut le faire” – which means ‘you’ve just to do it’ or ‘it must be done’.
if you have a mouse (wolfie) in your house, what are you doing to get rid of it? borrowing your neighbour’s cat is a good place to start. just find a successful neighbour with a fierce cat. and model yourself after her …
Happy Day 50 to magic arrow!
Happy Day 100 to AM!
Happy Day 100 to Laure!
Happy Day 100 to Moss!
Happy Day 100 to unsmashed!
Happy Day 100 to Darla!
Happy Day 200 to Doll Face!
Happy Day 365 to Laurie!