Widget decided just the thing to get me on a regular morning schedule again was a nice fat mouse in the bed.
She caught the little bugger that has been taunting me around my computer desk just out of reach for the last month now. I’ve been telling it its days were numbered, but it’d just sit down in its lil crack, look at me with its big beady eyes, and chew my stolen sunflower seeds with evil glee. The lil shit stole a whole bag…not one or two like a normal mouse, no, these here are Grays Creek field mice…they are mutant kangaroos with a sort of ghetto breeding that rappers cream themselves for. I kid you not…they look like little fat kittens, all brown on top and snowy white on bottom, but they grin at you with mean gold plated grills, and if you try to chase them out of your dresser, the little bitches will jump your ass.
I have been attacked by mouses in my house. I have mouse related PTSD. My husband has been innocently sitting on the toilet, and his dresser mouse saw him vulnerable, and decided it was a great time to hop over and rape his foot. One hid in the dish washer until I opened it, and then sprung out at me to jump down my shirt and into my bra.
Creek mouses come with bad ass street cred. They are fearless.
This particular mouse would come out and nip at Widget's tail while she was sleeping on my computer, sending her into hours of 'hunt and kill the mouse' posturing (muchly an inconvenience considering she was crawling all over me), until eventually I would leave the room, and…she’d have to leave too because she didn’t want to be left alone with the thing.
This morning however, she wasn’t in bed with me like she normally is. I didn’t notice though, because for once I was sleeping well…until I heard a crash across the room (I have a bed in my study now…which I sleep in nightly, long story there) and looked up to see her standing on my desk in the glow of the monitor, like some lion with a dangly gazelle in her mouth…or in this case a plump twitchy mouse.
I was ecstatic. The little mutant was caught. And then I was instantly horrified…because she was coming to give him to me…and I couldn’t stop her, one great jump and she was in my lap and so was king mouse, big bulging eyes and all. Now…long time ago, I used to be all about “Aww…lets put it outside, Widget! He’ll be happy there!” And then I grew up, and realized once outside, the little shit would laugh, dust itself off, and come back in the way it got in the first time…and then chew up something important of mine to send me a message to never mess with it again. So after I smacked it down from where it was planning to run about my sheets and flee, I nabbed it by the tail and commanded a swift coup de grace for the poor malicious little taunter, and told her to kill it, or I was going to smash its head in with a rock. She took it away from me then, quickly too, because she hates it when I hold them by the tail like that, and went a little ways down the hall to hold it by the neck…and just hold it, and hold it, and hold it, and then she dropped it and looked at me.
It’s her way, she doesn’t eat them anymore. At some point past young adulthood she decided she’d rather just suffocate them and get the piece of ham I give her in exchange for the kill rather than actually eat the nasty gamey mouse that gets fur stuck in her teeth. So, I got up then, nipped it up by the tail again, and flung it out into the wild wooly world of my back yard…and then got her the ham she deserved. She was a very pleased kitty this morning…and so was I.
Except that I had to wash my sheets.