Mousey Mahem

So I'm sitting on my couch with my feet up on the coffee table, about ready to take a bite of my sandwich I made for lunch, when out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a tiny, dark gray mass shooting across the floor from underneath my feet, under the coffee table and then under the other couch across the room. My heart stopped dead for a second. The safe, comforting side of my brain wanted to protect me, trying to convince me that it was just a shadow or my contacts must have a haze on them. But then the reality portion of the brain shook its head and said, "No, that was a mouse and you know it!"

As that information began to process throughout my head, my heart instantly jumped into scare mode which resulted in the rest of my body freezing as well, leaving that bite of sandwich sitting still in my mouth as my brain was rapidly going through the options of what I should do next. When the adrenaline finally made its way to my feet, I got the nerve to jump up, grab my phone and yell out loud in my growliest voice to an empty house, "AHHH, YUCK!!" I darted off to the kitchen, since this tiny varmint now owned the living room, but then realized if I couldn't track him, he could eventually own the whole house. So I found a little bit of courage from somewhere deep down in my wimpy self and went back to living room, keeping a tracking eye on the couch where he ducked under.

I called Hubby and insisted he come home to save his damsel in distress from this evil little creature. I know I'm not a petite or weak woman, and I know I'm certainly old enough to fight my own pest battles but the tiny mouse had me beat, I admit it. If it'd been a spider, I'd have went to battle in a heartbeat, but those darn mice are fast and smart, which isn't fair and very creepy. Hubby rushed in to save the day and after some chasing on his part and some screaming and high stepping on my part, he got the little bugger trapped.

After my nerves calmed and I could think clearly, I knew exactly why that dirty rascal decided our house was his choice of restaurants in the neighborhood. For the same gripe I have all the time, all the food my girls leave laying around. We can't eat our snacks, or meals sometimes for that matter, at the table. Oh no, we have to eat them on the couches and then completely disregard the crumbs or leftovers that fall off on to the floors. Don't pick them up, just kick 'em under the couches. And my instincts were proven correct as I was insistent that under the couches be vacuumed immediately after the mouse's departure. There was the evidence, a delicious assortment of Cheetos, goldfish, popcorn and granola crumbs. The crem de la crem had to be the half nibbled on giant tootsie roll from Halloween. Mmmm, what rodent wouldn't want to dine on that? Or perhaps it was the smashed mini peanut butter cup underneath the other couch? Either one would be quite a gourmet dessert for a mouse family of 120.

Or I don't know, maybe it was the scent of the smashed strawberry Pop Tart pieces gluing the couch cushions together that lured the mousey into our living room? Whatever, the source of enticement, it worked and thanks to my girls' laziness, I got to freak out and jump around like a monkey during what was supposed to be my quiet lunch hour. I know I'm making it sound like our house is a disgusting heap of scraps and filth but it's really not. I swear I clean, my girls will attest to it, but vacuuming under couches is not a weekly occurrence. Perhaps maybe it should be, for my sanity and for the safety of my girls because if I see another mouse having a buffet under my living room couches, my girls are going to be the ones to round him up. That would be a whole other article in itself!