Friday, December 07, 2007

A New Pest Problem!

So, can anyone guess what’s worse than the kid who sings the song about wanting a Hippo for Christmas? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Mice. Mice are worse than that kid. Because that kid is slightly intangible. I’ve never met him. I never want to. I will never have to. But mice, mice I met last night. During dinner. And White Christmas. On my living room floor.

Yeah, after work, to avoid traffic, I headed to the mall to get a little Christmas shopping done. After not finding what I needed, I grabbed some cheap Chinese food and headed home.

Tired and weary, I threw on my VS flannell pj’s, the red ones with the hearts and flowers all over them, and grabbed some Sricha sauce to douse my chicken & rice in, and cozily sank into my sofa. I had already popped in a movie (White Christmas), and so, as my day wound down, I began to eat my dinner, and sing along to the movie (not at the same time obviously). Right about the time that the Haynes sisters & Wallace & Davis were singing “Snow, snow, snow snow” on a train, a little brown field mouse scampered out from behind my TV/Entertainment center, and made it about a foot and half before I shrieked in terror and shoved the coffee table at it. It then quickly scurried back behind the TV, disappearing into the radiator hole in the floor, as I hyperventilated on the sofa, chanting “oh no, oh no, oh no!”.

Ten minutes later, as the “oh no, oh no, oh no”’s were winding down, I gathered the courage to untuck my legs from out from under me, and run (literally) to the kitchen to grab my cell phone out of my purse. Scenes from The Parent Trap ran through my head, as I banged the two remote controls against each other along the way, making enough noise to irritate my easily irritated neighbors, in hopes of keeping the mouse from making any more surprise appearances. My biggest fear was that it would decide to run out, just as I was running to the kitchen, and somehow our feet would meet. It’s little clawed, gnarled feet running across my soft, clumsy ones.

I dashed back to the sofa, out of breath more from fear than running. I immediately called my mom, and as soon as she picked up I reverted back to the 6th grade whining that often earned her backhand. I got absolutely no sympathy. So, I called the BFF. She didn’t pick up. So I text messaged the UCE, got no response, till about 1:00 am when he texted me back “Maybe you should get a cat. Hahaha!”.

The fourth person I called was my friend Kelly, who for two weeks has been trying to convince me to take her cat, Elvis and keep him and love him forever. So far my response has been “yeah, because I want kitty litter crumbs traipsed across the bathroom floor and hair over every inch of clothing that I own”. Last night I changed my mind and my new response immediately became “he’s a natural mouser, right?”

OMG. I don’t really want a cat. But I don’t want mice either. Or squirrels in my attic. Or the potential for other fearsome creatures that live downtown. And I definitely don’t want a cat named Elvis. Can I think of a better name before tomorrow morning?? We’ll see.

In the meantime, I pray that I get a good night’s sleep tonight, because I sure didn’t last night. The threat of mice crawling up my cute jammie pants in my sleep kept me up for quite a while. Will the sound of an erratic, nocturnal cat pouncing around all night long be any better? I guess I’ll find out soon. Could be worse, though. I could be the mother of that poor “I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas” kid. That kind of critter problem can’t be solved with just a housecat. You’d need a lion to shut that kid up!

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