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Previous Columns:
A Wooden Block Worth its Weight in Gold
It's Not What's on the Surface That Really Matters
Seven Mantras to Survive The Sleepover
What a Surprise (After the party nonsense)
The Greatest Gift of All (Birthday related nonsense)
Cell phone conversations: the new reality show
Life doesn't necessarily fit into pre-made forms
If only [what hangs on] these walls could talk
What I did for summer vacation
A fair weather friend she's not
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Cat and Mouse: Not a Problem
It
was 3:30 in the morning and I couldn't sleep. I sat in my office and heard a
loud snap from the kitchen. The dogs and I investigated. The cat, Tessa, was
pawing feverishly at the bottom drawer of the cabinet.
The noise wasn't a trap because we don't have a mouse problem and haven't set any. There's not been one dropping of evidence, but because it was 3:30 and I needed a break, I removed the drawer so I could prove Tessa wrong. Figured it would be worth a few minutes' entertainment while I refilled my coffee.
There was a rat-a-tat-tat, boom, bang, thud as Tessa went after what surely must have been a cricket. Then I saw a tail squirming from her mouth as she slinked around the perimeter of the kill zone. I shooed the dogs away and followed suit.
She stopped about 10 feet short of the front door. While dogs will come when called, cats won't. She did a 180 and dashed through the hall.
Not the basement. I ran after her and stopped short when I saw she hadn't gone down, but instead, up. Toward our bedrooms. The first portion of our stairwell has 10 carpeted steps. The seventh step is about eye level when standing in the hall, which is where Tessa had stopped. I snapped on the light just in time to see a mouse missile headed straight for my face. I screamed and jumped back.
Tessa's not de-clawed and it's a good thing because she jumped in time to snag it mid-air and bat it against the wall where it scampered down a few steps toward my feet. I did a little jig with another scream that I stifled for fear I'd wake my husband who might join the foray with a loaded gun.
I needed a weapon of my own. I found a tennis shoe and clutched the heel and thought, this is no good. I have to be in close proximity to the jumping mouse in order to hit it. I sprinted toward the half bath and discarded the shoe. I flung open the door and yanked the long handled weapons of mass destruction from their nook. I tested the sponge mop against the floor. Too soft. The broom was old and the bristles all bent. No good. The last choice? Yes. I could Swiffer it to death. It would either be a direct hit if the head didn't swivel or the creature would choke to death on the dust clinging to the cloth. Perfect.
I took my position, wielded my stick and watched as the historic and well-known game of cat and mouse ensued. Up and down they went in a ballet of badminton. Every time the mouse would make it close to the hall floor, I danced, squealed, and parried. Whenever I'd brandish the Swiffer when they were close, the cat would cringe and I thought, what if she lets it get away? Or worse, what if it runs up my pants leg?
A cup or bowl. That's what I needed. It couldn't be larger than the step itself or it would get loose. It had to have a handle. I emptied the cabinets in search of the perfect capturing device. The heavy silver measuring cup, complete with handle felt right.
The game went on for another 10 minutes or so and the mouse was growing weary. So was I. It was time to make my move. One hard smack and it bounced down to the floor at my feet. I swooped the cup over it and screamed in victory, I mean fear.
That one roused my husband. Fortunately, the hunt was over. He stood at the top of the stairs and asked for an explanation. Afterward, he scratched his head and said "But we don't have a mouse problem and do you realize it's four in the morning?" as he staggered back to bed. My objection that maybe we did have a mouse problem fell on ears already back to sleep.
I looked down at Tessa as she circled the captured critter, wanting to play with it again. This explained the many times in the past when we've heard her "playing" on the steps in the middle of the night. Maybe with a cat in the house, the mouse problem is really no problem.
I certainly hope so.
Copyright © 2004 Bex Hall
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