At 4:00 in the wee hours of Thursday morning I was awakened by a familiar scrambling in my bedroom. At this point I should know better and just roll over and go back to sleep. But the responsible homeowner/vendettive bitch in me just can’t resist the call of a good MOUSE RODEO!
So up I sprang to find my four-legged assistant already on the case. Kitty was chasing a poor little mouse to and fro around the bedroom. I swear she was playing with him, and I haven’t seen a mortally cuter sight than the mouse staring up at her, impotent boxing fists at the ready, chattering hail Mary’s in mouse-speak while Kitty watched, tail twitching. This went on for a few minutes, with me shouting encouragement from the sidelines. I know it’s gross, but I wanted nothing more than for the cat to sink her teeth into this thing and be done with it so I could go back to bed. But it soon became apparent that I’d woken up for a spectator sport, not a blood sport.
But damned if I was giving this invasive creature the chance to continue its life in my palace. So into my closet I went for The Shoe Box. And then I chased that damn mouse around my bedroom, in and out of my closet, until I finally grabbed him:
Trouble was, I only managed to get his body in the box while his poor wee head stuck outside. What to do?
It was now about 4:15 in the morning, and I was buzzing from my adrenaline-induced hunt. There was no way I was going to let the mouse escape, and I knew that if I tried to get him properly in the box odds were he’d escape. So I grabbed a roll of packing tape and with one hand sealed him halfway in his cardboard coffin. And then I slipped him into a plastic bag and went to do what I do with all small mammals I am out to dispatch: put him in the freezer. Only my freezer was too full with chilling beer steins and venison sausage, so this guy met his end in the fridge. And I went upstairs to wipe mouse blood stains off my floor. Turns out this actually was a blood sport for Kitty.
When I got the mouse out the next day he was good and dead, and one little eyeball was frosty white from freezing against the bag. I chucked him into the woods for the fox, and then went inside to give my partner Kitty a well-deserved scratch about her ears.
I admit I had to laugh at the mental picture of the “mouse rodeo” going on in the bedroom at 4:15 in the morning! Then I went “eeewwww” when I saw the pic of him about to be taped to his doom! I don’t blame you – I don’t want a mouse in the house either!
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