I caught Fieval in the downstairs bathroom while I was getting ready for work. When I stumbled into the shower, I noticed Snafu and Fubar both camped out on the floor. Which is weird, but I figured they were just cats being cats. So I did my shower stuff, got out, got dressed, and made myself breakfast. Cats still hadn’t budged. Wouldn’t pay any attention to me, or their breakfast. Lazy little buggers.
The last thing I do before I leave for the day is scoop the catbox. So I pulled the box toward me to be able to reach it better…and a fat brown mouse dashed out from behind the box and froze. So did I. So did the cats. I slammed the door shut, locking all four of us inside. After some calculating, swearing, and a lot of frantic scufflings that resulted in one very unhappy mouse trapped under a handy bucket…I called my boss and informed her of the situation. Probably the weirdest “I’m gonna be late” reason she’s had in quite a while. Definitely the weirdest I’ve ever given. I retrieved my trusty “catch and release” trap from the basement and convinced the smallest idiot in the room to crawl in. My plan was to release the little dummy in a nearby wooded area and then head off to work. Fieval, it turned out, didn’t want to leave. Just sat there huddled in the trap. I ended up having to leave the open trap in my yard. He was gone when I got home.
A day or so later I was once again getting ready for work, when I heard a ruckus in the parlor. I walked in, and found Fubar frantically trying to climb the floor-length lace curtains. I looked up…and there was Wallenda, balanced on the curtain rod and--I’m sure--laughing his ass off at the stupid cat. Snafu, it should be noted, was politely supervising from the settee. All four of us took stock of the situation, and then I went to get the Mouse Removal Bucket. Wallenda, it turned out, had other ideas. That little shit gave us a run for our money.
He ran across the curtain rod. He ran down the curtain. He ran over my hand (I screeched). He ran back up the curtain. He took a flying leap of desperation over my head and landed behind the space heater. I had a brief bout of hysterics until I realized he hadn’t jumped on my head (if that’d happened I would have called in "dead" to work and had a nervous breakdown). Ran out from behind the space heater. Ran into my purse. Ran out of my purse. Ran into the dining room. Ran up the dining room curtain. Ran across the curtain rod. Fell off and landed in the bucket. The four of us needed to catch our collective breath. I didn’t even bother with the trap this time. Left Wallenda to cool his little paws while I finished getting ready. Then I took the bucket to the woods and dumped him out. Last I saw, he was under a log.
Tucker came along not twelve hours later. I went to bed at midnight and was just dropping off when I heard a commotion from downstairs. After being unable to convince myself that it was just normal cat play I went down to see. Both boys were crouched under the china cabinet with a very familiar look on their furry little faces. In a fantastically stupid move, I stuck my face under the cabinet and shone a flashlight. Tucker and I were almost nose-to-nose. He squeaked and ran. I squeaked and stomped. One brief scramble later, and Tucker was safely in the bucket. I scolded him roundly as I shoved my feet into shoes and pulled on my coat. Told him exactly what I thought of mice who kept the whole household up past their bedtimes. Then I went across the street to the football field and rather rudely plopped the little fur wad out onto the grass.
It turns out that not only am I not afraid of mice, but I’m also a better mouser than my cats. Which should make me an honorary cat. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drink a bowl of cream and curl up in a sunbeam.
No comments:
Post a Comment