I've been a bit traumatized from my last mouse encounter and to be honest, had to get a bit of distance to find the humor in the latest one. I know it sounds crazy that a woman of my, uhm height, could be so scared of something so little, but I am.
So the following Sunday after my first encounter with a mouse in my house, I was in the kitchen baking cookies, listening to Christmas music and generally having a pretty great day. Then I walked into the living room and saw something out of the corner of my eye down the hallway. Yup. He was back (I refuse to think that there is more than one mouse in my house), running down the hallway towards me.
I was brave. I didn't scream, pass out or pass any bodily fluids (ok, I did sweat a little). Instead I went to the door and yelled for Roland to come in and deal with it. As he ambled - and I do mean ambled and he never ambles - to the back door, I kept looking down the hallway to see if he had turned around and went back to our bedroom or kept coming to attack me.
Roland went into our room and I heard him starting to move furniture around. He yelled for me and I slowly, inch by inch, crept down the hallway. He had it cornered in our sitting area.
Then it happened. Roland asked the impossible. He asked me to get in there and hit it with the broom and kill it while he had it cornered.
My response? I threw both the cats in the room with Roland and the mouse.
Unfortunately, my cats are from the city and I think their initial fascination with the idea of a mouse had passed. They both ambled - everyone was ambling that day except me and the mouse - back down the hallway. I guess since they've never had to hunt for dinner more than find the cat food bowl, they weren't as motivated. I was a bit disappointed I must say. Kids.
So Roland said he needed me or he wouldn't be able to catch it. I went into the room - and seriously I am shaking and palms sweating - and he said it had gone up inside our stepper/treader/climber machine. He wanted me to either tip the machine so he could look up inside it or I could use the flashlight and look up there to see the mouse.
I was a tipper. And as I did, that mouse came out about two feet away from me - then ran back into the machine. Luckily we have a door to the outside in our bedroom and we dragged the machine over and put it outside. He would either come out outside or freeze inside it.
So the bigger issue? We found our first major disagreement between the city girl and the country boy. Roland could not understand why I couldn't just go take care of it when I saw it. He honestly can't understand my fear. It's just a mouse and he thinks I'm a strong, fearless independent woman. Yup I am. Until I see a mouse. And I can't understand his terror at flying in an airplane. I travel a lot, and while I'm not crazy about it, realize my bigger risk is in driving to the airport.
So we reached a compromise. We bought traps and set them (no poison with the cats or his granddaughter around) and agreed I will put them out and he will haul them away. So far, no mice. And he will not try to change my fear, but respect my feelings. And we're driving to Florida this winter and not flying.
Who thought you could learn all these relationship lessons over a mouse?
And by the way, we're doing ugly Christmas sweaters/sweatshirts for our family dinner this week. Roland's daughter Elizabeth bought me one with a cat sitting on a Christmas present - with a mouse sitting right next to it. Nice...