A Mouse Tail, Part II
I've come a long way from understanding that a furry brown thing in my house is, in fact, a mouse, and, more, does not belong in said house.
On the first night of my mouse's discovery and escape from capture, I bunked down in the bedroom that we were apparently fated to share and slept soundly. Absolutely I was aware he could climb up my bedding and make a den in my hair as I slept. But, eh, no biggie.
I'm not sure this would have been a "no biggie" pre-accident, but that's what happened. Again, I slept well. Nothing happened, that I'm aware of, and I had two doctor appointments yesterday. I may have forgotten about the mouse entirely...except my cats started treating my bedroom as hunting grounds last night. I watched in a detached way as my three cats, especially Garf, patrolled the room.
I was disappointed as I watched Garf turn his interest toward my bathroom. After all, I wanted to take a bath. Who on earth knows what I was doing that I wasn't affected by this literal cat-and-mouse game. I was in the fog. I was probably starting at the ceiling, just drifting in the fog, thinking of nothing. Garf would make a noise, briefly catch my attention, then I'd turn back to my fog. That is, until I heard a definitive noise of a pounce. Shortly thereafter, Garf strutted out of the bathroom with the mouse in his mouth.
This is where everything fell apart. I feel like everyone and everything involved severely miscalculated the situation. Knowing cats, I felt fairly certain the mouse was very much alive. In fact, Garf was practically carrying it by the tiny scruff of his neck. Tenderly, like a kitten, but a kitten who would be slammed into walls and have his head bitten off.
Garf's mistake was to take his prize into the privacy of...oh, he forgot we have no privacy. He walked into the living room to be confronted by two very curious dogs. And probably a plethora of cats. Who knows. Garf had overplayed his hand—or paw.
The dogs' mistake was being dogs. Yes, my dogs can be killers and absolutely love to bring me headless birds. But this was no ball or treat to be taken by force from a rival. This was a skittish cat with a presumably pissed-off mouse.
My mistake was following Garf with an insane plan of ushering him toward either the dog door or even opening the front door and getting him to drop the mouse outside. Sadly, I found my psychic powers of telling all the pets to "chill the hell out" did not work. So I did everything short of singing "Soft Kitty" to try to calm all parties.
Haven taken his prize into a den of thieves, Garf did the only thing his cat brain could think to do: drop the mouse. The mouse scurried past all shocked parties under the heavy computer desk, another day besting we idiots.
And so the day ended. Right?
I'd certainly thought so, finally getting to take that delayed bath, except during which, my kid knocked on the door to tell me he'd seen the mouse. Oh, I'd forgotten to tell him this might still be an ongoing problem. How ongoing?
"The mouse was on the thing that controls the computer—" he shouted as I continued languishing in my soak.
"The mouse was on the mouse? That's hysterical."
"No! The rectangular thing!"
"The...mouse pad? The mouse was on the mouse pad? That's still pretty good."
"No! The rectangular thing that controls the computer."
"Oh! The—thing—yeah, I know what you mean now. That's not very funny."
"No, it's not. And...I think...it winked at me."
"Now that's funny again. It's okay. Go to bed."
"Can mice climb?"
"No. No."
Yes, I lied to my son from the comforts of my hot bath. Well played, moxie mouse. Well played.
On the first night of my mouse's discovery and escape from capture, I bunked down in the bedroom that we were apparently fated to share and slept soundly. Absolutely I was aware he could climb up my bedding and make a den in my hair as I slept. But, eh, no biggie.
I'm not sure this would have been a "no biggie" pre-accident, but that's what happened. Again, I slept well. Nothing happened, that I'm aware of, and I had two doctor appointments yesterday. I may have forgotten about the mouse entirely...except my cats started treating my bedroom as hunting grounds last night. I watched in a detached way as my three cats, especially Garf, patrolled the room.
I was disappointed as I watched Garf turn his interest toward my bathroom. After all, I wanted to take a bath. Who on earth knows what I was doing that I wasn't affected by this literal cat-and-mouse game. I was in the fog. I was probably starting at the ceiling, just drifting in the fog, thinking of nothing. Garf would make a noise, briefly catch my attention, then I'd turn back to my fog. That is, until I heard a definitive noise of a pounce. Shortly thereafter, Garf strutted out of the bathroom with the mouse in his mouth.
This is where everything fell apart. I feel like everyone and everything involved severely miscalculated the situation. Knowing cats, I felt fairly certain the mouse was very much alive. In fact, Garf was practically carrying it by the tiny scruff of his neck. Tenderly, like a kitten, but a kitten who would be slammed into walls and have his head bitten off.
Garf's mistake was to take his prize into the privacy of...oh, he forgot we have no privacy. He walked into the living room to be confronted by two very curious dogs. And probably a plethora of cats. Who knows. Garf had overplayed his hand—or paw.
The dogs' mistake was being dogs. Yes, my dogs can be killers and absolutely love to bring me headless birds. But this was no ball or treat to be taken by force from a rival. This was a skittish cat with a presumably pissed-off mouse.
My mistake was following Garf with an insane plan of ushering him toward either the dog door or even opening the front door and getting him to drop the mouse outside. Sadly, I found my psychic powers of telling all the pets to "chill the hell out" did not work. So I did everything short of singing "Soft Kitty" to try to calm all parties.
Haven taken his prize into a den of thieves, Garf did the only thing his cat brain could think to do: drop the mouse. The mouse scurried past all shocked parties under the heavy computer desk, another day besting we idiots.
And so the day ended. Right?
I'd certainly thought so, finally getting to take that delayed bath, except during which, my kid knocked on the door to tell me he'd seen the mouse. Oh, I'd forgotten to tell him this might still be an ongoing problem. How ongoing?
"The mouse was on the thing that controls the computer—" he shouted as I continued languishing in my soak.
"The mouse was on the mouse? That's hysterical."
"No! The rectangular thing!"
"The...mouse pad? The mouse was on the mouse pad? That's still pretty good."
"No! The rectangular thing that controls the computer."
"Oh! The—thing—yeah, I know what you mean now. That's not very funny."
"No, it's not. And...I think...it winked at me."
"Now that's funny again. It's okay. Go to bed."
"Can mice climb?"
"No. No."
Yes, I lied to my son from the comforts of my hot bath. Well played, moxie mouse. Well played.
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