The mouse who took out the elephant… April 16, 2008

Packing is an interesting task. Especially when I waddle more often than I walk, and doing ANYTHING takes me longer and longer every day. But, packing is my job, by self-appointment. I need to know things are organized. My husband, wonderful man that he is, would probably throw everything in garbage bags, pile it all into a moving truck, and hit the road, in 20 minutes or less; just like the time he did when he packed for our boys, when we decided to leave 2 days early for a trip to Phoenix. Walking past the check-in desk with three giant trash bags is just a little embarrassing.

But today, I think I might have thrown out my lower back for good. Not from the pack and lifting, but from screaming.

You see, our townhouse has a storage closet, but not a garage. Most everything in it is from our childhoods or Christmas, with several boxes of books, and some car-supplies mixed in. On Monday when I began to clean it out, and make sure nothing was living in any of those boxes, I discovered the tell-tell droppings that announced mice were dwelling among our childhood possessions. I packed the boys off to Home Depot and picked up some bug spray and some mouce poison. Big mistake. I should have just gone with the spring loaded traps, because apparently, it takes 5 days, after ingestion, for the suckers to start dieing. And, you have no idea where they will end up. Well, that meant I couldn’t put anything back into the closet, and there where so many boxes stacked in front of the double doors that I couldn’t close them, so instead of moving the boxes, I left the doors open, figuring it would be easier for my husband to check for critters each morning.

My first flaw was in failing to realize that they might come out of the closet. My second flaw was in forgetting that they might come out during the day. Which one did. The cute little guy crossed my path right as I was heading for more tape, and he was OUT of the closet he was supposed to be living in! As I was screaming bloody murder, trying to dodge the tiny teeth and tail, with my belly doing the shimmy-shake just like that of a forty-something-year old man who thinks he still has the “moves” when it comes to basketball, I couldn’t help but feeling bad for the poor little guy that he is gonna be dead, hopefully on Friday. I also couldn’t help but notice that he seemed very healthy, for a mouse who is supposed to be dead on Friday, which means we will probably be going to Home Depot this afternoon, when I can walk again, to get the spring-loaded traps, to speed up the whole process. My second thought was to look up and down our street to make sure that none of our neighbors were running to my aid, and then I remembered that they are all at work during the day, except Miss Betty, who’s 87, and can’t hear a thing when her hearing aids aren’t in.

The funniest part was that when I finally made it back into the house, the Adventurer was tentatively on his way down the stairs to check on me, having heard me scream. The Captain was right behind him with a baseball bat in his hands. He grabbed it just in case “you saw a black widow and it was about to bite you mommy.” Pretty sweet for a 5-year-old. I guess with three sons, I can officially resign from any more bug or mouse slaying, before any more tiny living things send me into early labor.

Salud, and may your homes be mice-free! H