Tonight, I was totally going to blog about this awesome Christmas tree our friends Meghan and Andrew brought Meg.
Black celebration, I know. The best part is Target carries them in hot pink and baby blue too! I had just written that line in the blog that would have been, when I saw the little furry bastard. It ran from behind the couch, past the fireplace, and behind the "entertainment system." At first I thought it was our cat, Olive -- that's how big it was.
When I saw the rodent I was enjoying an evening alone. Ryan had taken Meg to the school play and I was sitting around in nothing but socks. Andrew and Meghan came over to drop off the tree, so I had to put on a bra, but the evening was still pretty chill. Seeing the scurrying mouse though, ramped it up to full DefCon 4: with socks tucked into sweats, and oven mitts and wine sleeves on the hands. Yeah, I looked pretty.
I tried to call Ryan four times. I called my parents. They asked if I was playing Mousetrap. I remembered why I don't call them for non sarcasm related emergencies. They said to just leave the doors open. I reminded them it's 3o degrees. They hung up.
When Ryan and Meg got home I tried to play it cool. Well, as cool as I could with a wine sleeve on one hand. Ryan told me not to worry, that whatever it was, if it was anything, would probably run out the way it came in. Then, he saw it, and confirmed my suspicions. It wasn't a wayward kitten, but a mouse. Since he grew up on a farm I had to trust him.
We moved the couch. We moved the coffee table. We moved the bookcases. We saw it run down the fireplace ash chute, so we sat there waiting. I shined a flashlight down there and didn't find a mouse, but found Sally's tennis ball, and Meg's rolly ball. Yes, I got them out. I figured if nothing else it would scare the furry Jerkasaurous.
I thought that the fight was over. That the mouse would sleep in the hole until it either got out, or we found it eviscerated by one of the cats on the floor. I had started writing this new blog, about how the mouse was still in the house, and how reaching down the ash chute made me look like I had given a hand job to Dick Van Dyke. And then? I saw it again.
I have never been quiet, and I have never been graceful, yet I was both as I crept into the corner and picked up the little visitor. I called to Ryan to open the door -- and take a picture.
All quiet is now on the Libby front. Yes, the cats are still hunting for the ghost mouse, but I think that's humbling for them. I can go to sleep without worrying vermin will nibble off my child's toes. And the mouse? He will live to fight another day. Oh, and hopefully remember I saved him from a gruesome death at the hands of overfed cats.
I just hope the raccoons don't show up again.