I'm a Military Blogger


Friday, February 25, 2011

The Great Mouse Hunt

When I was 8 my parents took me to see the movie "Mouse Hunt". You know, the one with Nathan Lane and Christopher Walken about the mouse that can't be destroyed? What you don't know about that movie is that it isn't fiction. No, "Mouse Hunt" is actually the very gripping and suspenseful non-fiction tale of 2 mortals who take up arms against a fiendish rodent and destroy an entire house in the process. I should know...because that story is my own.

The mouse in question was brought into my home by my cat, Dr. Sagan (a name I am considering changing to "fucking cat", seeing as that's really all I've ever heard myself say in his presence). I had returned from the gym and, wanting nothing more to do than crawl into bed, opened the door and let my cat back in without thouroughly checking his oral cavity.

Little did I know, tucked gently between his teeth was a mouse. How he caught a mouse I'll never understand. Here's a cat who I've seen laying around my house, unable to move because of the affects of gravity on his gelatinous stomach fat. Here's a cat who, when he realizes his food trough is half empty, goes into panic mode and gorges himself for an hour. Here's a cat who, when given the chance to chase feathers on string, looks at it with disdain and waddles back to his spot in the sun. I'm beginning to think maybe cats are smarter than we think they are, and they secretly have their own mini fast-food chains underneath the bushes, where they dish out Mc-rodents to the neighborhood strays.

As "fucking cat" came through the door I noticed that little something sticking out of his mouth and immediatly realized what was about to go down. I tried to nab him as he ran past, but he was too fast for me, bolting down the hall and into the closet. He released his prey and immediatly began to swat and jump, all the while appearing to joyously yell "look ma! Look ma! Look what I brought!!"

Things just went downhill from there. I picked "fucking cat:" up off the floor and locked him in the bathroom, then proceeded to pace around the room, unsure of what to do. I've never caught a mouse. Hell, the only time I've ever even SEEN a wild mouse was one time at sleep away camp when one crawled onto my friends sleeping bag in the middle of the night and ate a crumb. Rodent extermination is not my forte.

I called my dad, keen on asking his advice on the matter. He told me to just let the cats have a free for all or get a mouse trap (which would probably be less successful at catching the mouse, and more successful at catching cats). Before I could do anything, the mouse bolted from the closet and ran at me. I imagine the little squeeking noises he made can only be translated as "THIS IS SPARTA!"

I did what any logical, sane married woman would do when faced with a crisis mid-deployment. I called my neighbor.

Mouse: 1; Mere Mortals: 0

My neighbor arrived a few minutes later, armed with a plastic bag, keen on conquering the rodent empire and restoring peace and order to my apartment, But after 30 minutes of flailing, yelping, and sweating it was beginning to look like my neighbor and I were in the process of re-enacting the entire "Mouse Hunt" movie. From the bed, to the dresser, to the closet we chased that mouse, me waving a vacuum hose and my neighbor weilding a shower curtain rod. Hilarity ensued.

We chased the mouse behind the bed, under the bed, behind the bed again, under the bed, on the other side of the bed, behind the dresser, on top of the dresser, under the bed again, in the one point everything on the floor was moved onto the bed, where I ripped apart 2 laundry baskets, 3 shopping bags, and a storage box looking for the furry devil.

Mouse: 2; Mere Mortals: 0

AHA! I saw him...sprinting for his life and sliding under the bathroom door into the waiting clutches of my cat. From the safety of the other side one could hear the battle take place. *hisssss* CRASH! *hissss* CRASH *yowl* CRASH. But alas, the only casualties in that war were the shower curtain and a corner shelf. The mouse would live to fight another minute, this time taking solace back in the closet.

Mouse: 3; "Fucking Cat": 0; Mere Mortals: 0

EVERYTHING came out of that closet. Boxes, bags, ironing boards, suitcases, vacuum cleaners all moved out, the miniscule warrior bounding in between the clutter with each movement. But, of course, that mouse was smart; smarter than both of us. It charged out between our feet, scurring across my neighbors bare leg and behind a suitcase, leaving nothing but shrieks in its wake.

Mouse: 4; Mere Mortals: 0

It was at that point that I was forced to come to terms with my own humanity. The 11th hour was approaching and surely we weren't going to catch the rodent, meaning I would more than likely not live to see the next morning, having been suffocated in my sleep by a tiny mammalian creature. Or worse yet, I would contract hontavirus and die a slow and painful death over the course of months. Or even more disturbing than either of those scenarios, I would be kept awake all night and all day, listening to a chorus of howling and pouncing as my cat tried and failed over and over to catch his prey.

I kneeled down to peer behind the suitcase, clutching my vacuum hose until my knuckles were white. I could hear the faintest noise coming from behind the suitcase; a scuffling followed by the sound of muffled squeeks. And then...silence. I inched closer to the suitcase, drawing down my vacuum hose to get a better look and AAAAAAAAAUGH! An ambush!

The vermin viking sprung out, weilding his sword. "TONIGHT WE DINE IN HELL!" he yelled (ok, I made that up. And the sword part. But it does sound cool, doesn't it). This time my neighbor was ready. He swung his shower curtain rod down, pinning the miniature beast beneath it. As we carried our POW to the bushes I thought about our valiant fight. I wondered how his conquest would be received back home. Would his mouse brethren call him a hero? Perhaps there is no family for him to return to, and he will continue on, a vigilante, fighting to restore justice and order to a world being slowly over-run by domesticated pets.

A fair fight my squeeky friend. A fair fight.


Kindle said...

Baahahaha! Amazing tale! Truly spectacular. :)

Ken Morrow said...

Hey Rogue,

This is "off topic," but I think I represent another whole demographic of "rogue" milspouses that are even more under-represented and ostracized than the rebel-girlz I like so much. I'm a civilian MALE. I don't work for the military. I haven't been IN the military since 1993. We don't have kids. And I'm not a metrosexual "house husband" type.

Uh-oh! What the hell do they do with ME? They can't exactly send me to scrapbooking classes. Ya know what I mean? And I lost my white freakin' gloves and red hat. So I can't go to tea at the officers club.

Now, in milspouse terms, THAT is "alt," baby! Yet, to my great amusement I was the Milspouse Magazine 2010 Army Spouse of the Year. LMAO (I do a lot of wounded warrior and military family support work, and am a disabled vet myself)

Anyway...just wanted to introduce myself. Love what you're doing!

Laura said...

Thanks! nice to hear from you Ken!