She had a dream.
In the early morning hours, Loo was dreaming of Prince Charles, and of a tarantula on her head. I don't know how the two were connected... it was her dream, not mine. She kept brushing her head, to remove the creature from her hair... she reaslised that part wasn't a dream when her hand encountered something moving, something warm, something...furry.
We have mice.
Give her credit, she didn't scream or squeal or even gasp.
She did leap from bed in a perpendicular movement, however, and race downstairs to get Cat.
Cat is a 30 pound Maine Coon Cat, who usually spends his days sleeping on one bed or another, snoring while dreaming of chasing mice, I reckon. When put the task of actually chasing one, he was as useless as a chocolate fart.
He did a few sniffs, stalked the room, then curled up on her bed and went back to sleep.
Now, realise, I do not like killing things, not even bugs... it's the squish factor. I've written before I usually keep a can of AquaNet black label around to freeze most bugs that cross my path. Even the dread grasshopper will escape death at my hands.
Many years ago, we lived in a house that abutted a field... with winter came an influx of mice. I simply couldn't bear to hear the traps go off... and bought 'humane' mouse traps that lured the mice in, tipped back, and allowed them to suffocate. This worked for me. Later, in the Land O'Utes, I once again lived by a field, and every mouse for miles found it's way into my home. I'm pretty sure they sent out fliers to tell homeless mice of the warmth of the house along with the many flavour options of DeCon that I offered on the Mouse Menu. If I'm not mistaken, when they tear my house down at some part, most of the insulation on the south wall will be mummified mouse bodies. The consumption of DeCon was so rapid, with no visual results, I contemplated putting out little tables with candles and small napkins... I really think they had the stuff as a starter to the main course of dog kibble.
Nothing like putting your hand into the dog kibble bag and having a mouse run up your arm to wake you in the morning.
I still refused to do the traps, it was the little heads caught in them, the SNAP!! of it going off.. HRH and The Investment were no better.
We were a house of non killers.
Plus, you never know what will happen to that poor mouse in the trap, what indignities can occur to it's little body.
Back to the issue at hand.
Loo went out to pick up MB at school, I was doing... well, nothing.
Suddenly, I caught Cat moving. Cat doesn't move... as I said, he sleeps, he eats, he accepts the worship that is his due. He was--moving. He was moving with something in his mouth. Something that was also moving.
He. Had. A. Mouse.
I am not Loo.
Okay, I screeched. I'm surprised Neville isn't here, to be honest, I was that loud.
"CAT!! DROP THAT!"
Cat did. I now had a stunned mouse looking at me. Cat seemed pleased I was this stupid. "You wanted me to drop it, there it is, you silly moo."
Ah, but, I'm quick.... I grabbed a wicker basket and put it on top of the mouse, who had regained it's sense of survival and made a dash towards me, teeth bared.
I sat for an hour, feet up on a chair, two large dogs by said chair, Cat watching the basket which has two heavy books on it, and a mouse under it...waiting.
I didn't know how we'd get the mouse out, but, I knew we'd do it.. or at least Loo would.
Her car pulled up, I met her at the door, blocking Cat from knocking over the basket. MB and I hovered as Loo assessed the situation.
"Right. I've got to kill it."
Stone cold silence and shocked looks met her.
"What, did you think I was going to give it a going away party? What are you two like?" she asked in those plummy London tones of hers.
She picked up the basket, after we conferred and decided to let Cat do his animal duties..... no mouse.
"Are you bloody sure it was here? Now I've got a mouse in my kitchen!"
I swore the mouse had not left his little home away from home, and we peered into the tipped over basket, which promptly spit out the mouse, who jumped up into the radiator.
Cat looked at me, smug in his knowledge he'd have taken care of this mess if I'd just left him alone, and went back to cleaning his paws that are the size of saucers.
"Right, Quin, you get a broom, and poke at him, I'll squash him whe..."
"What? You'll what?" MB and I both looked horrified. Loo gave us a look that would have withered advancing German troops. Grant would have surrendered without a whimper.
"I. Will. Squash. Him. He's vermin. What d'you think I'm going to do? For fuck's sake... poke at him with the broom!"
I poked, Cat watched, MB squealed and the mouse jumped. With his leap for short freedom, MB and I retreated into the kitchen, cringing as we heard: BAM! BAM!BAM!
"There. Done." Loo came into the kitchen, picked up her heavy work gloves, gave us a glare that said all she thought of our miserable ways and picked up the squished body, throwing it away into the green bin... it is biodegradable.
We are okay now, MB and I forgiven for our cowardly ways... traps will be set tonight, Cat still sneering at me on a regular basis, and Frank terrified of the radiator now.
Pay attention Alanis, this is real irony.... She killed it with a huge DIY book.
Can't get much better than that.
Our Neville Fact:
Neville decided to get a tattoo on his one drunk leave while in the Army. It is on his right upper bum cheek, and is the perfect shape of a woman's lips wearing red lipstick. Margaret has never seen it, as she's never seen Neville naked with the light on. It remains his little secret, an reminder to his wild times as a youth, all two hours of it... what he doesn't know is, Margaret has the same tattoo. She got hers when she had one too many Snowballs (Advocat and Sprite with a cherry) in Liverpool with her friends at her hen party (bachelorette party). Only her OB knows about it. He was so shocked he never met her eyes when she had her follow up appointments, and suggested she see someone else after Flick (Felicity's nickname) was born.