We hate those mices to pieces
All at once we got the cold, I like to blame Clint as a couple of days before it hit he said “all right, I’m ready for it to be cold,” but I’m sure it has much more to do with the fact that its December. We had been struggling to decide whether we would get a Christmas tree or not. At first I thought we’d just skip it this year since our living room is our dining room, but we realized it just wouldn’t feel like Christmas that way. So we set out on Tuesday, picked one up from Lowes, and even got a little Christmas shopping done. Energized by our progress we got home and set the whole thing up. It was quite fun because last year we hit the Target 90% off post-Christmas sale and decided that though we liked our simple, modern Christmas tree with the white lights and minimal flourishes, it just didn’t feel like Christmas. So with an insanity blazing in our eyes that could only be brought on by 90% off, we stocked up on colored lights and lots of red garland. And our tree is now full of flourishes to say the least, but it also feels like Christmas. We also wound white lights around evergreen garland and red garland around the banister to bring some of the warm glow upstairs.
After having accomplished all this in one night it was naturally pretty late. So we headed upstairs around 1:30 am and drifted off. Around that that point where my mind shuts off or at least floats beyond my grasp, and my head starts getting heavier, I hear Chloe. Now let me preface this with a few explanations of our rather peculiar cat (and this is the point where I have to embarrassingly admit that yes, I have psychoanalyzed my cat)…it is my theory that she was taken away from her mother too early, and thus was not left with any discernable instincts. Although she lived with Tiger for a couple of years apparently none of his skills transferred to her in any way- except the one where she now jumps on counters. Case in point- in our old apartment Tiger would rip the heads off mice and leave them on the rug for us to find. (maybe you can see where this is going…) The only things Chloe will play with are a string, Clint’s arm in a sweatshirt, and a sock stuffed with catnip. When she plays with this sock she puts it in her mouth, runs up the stairs, and makes a noise that can only be described as a muffled mix between meowing and the sound humans make when they can successfully master the rolling R sound of the Spanish language.
So- around 1:50 I wake up to Chloe making this noise. Normally this would not be concerning in anyway, but we have a lazy cat, which is to say that as soon as it gets dark she can only be seen moving between the couch, the bed, and her food bowl. So I wake Clint up and tell him “Chloe’s making that noise.” There is one other time this has happened in our house it resulting in me seeing in the dark what I have sworn is a mouse. After setting traps and not seeing a thing, Clint decided that indeed we have no mice, while I felt it could only be an indication that we have the smartest mice ever. So Tuesday, after we hear this ‘something in her mouth’ sound followed by Chloe scrambling like mad across the room, I have the feeling that Clint’s starting to believe me now. In what is a completely nonsensical response, we both leap to our feet to stand on the bed, and Clint decides to straddle the bed and the dresser to turn on the lamp.
And what do we see- but Chloe standing there with the mouse in her mouth. For me I say “see” theoretically because of course that was the three nights a year that I am not sleeping in my contacts so I didn’t actually see a thing. I commence making some sort of ridiculous noise, horrified at the thought that the cat that curls up to me at night is now poisoned with mouse disease, which makes her run into the other room and drop it. At this point we feel safe enough to step on the floor. I grab my glasses and we peek our heads around the corner with our tiny flash light, and we are confronted with a horrifying image- the mouse slowing vertically climbing up the wooden leg of our desk. Vertically. Climbing. Slowly. Now I realized they could get up on things from stories of them being on counters, but I guess in the back of my head I just imagined there was some sort of stair stepping process to the whole thing- not vertically climbing. The implications ran like wildfire through my mind- they could climb up the stairs, they could climb into our cabinets- they could climb into our bed! (that is if Chloe doesn’t loving toss it there for us). Which believe me if that happens, you will hear my scream from where you are; wherever you are.
We carried on with our brilliant plan to trap the mouse in the room with a cheese loaded trap, with towels stuffed under the door to trap it, and headed off to bed, sure that our efforts would successfully commence with one dead mouse. Now this may be the end of the story if you have forgotten my aforementioned conclusion that we have the smartest mice ever. Somehow our mouse evaded capture, and is living in what I can only assume is one of our shoes (they are of course all kept on the floor of the closet in what I’m now lovingly referring to as the ‘mouse room'). Clint is still a bit traumatized by the whole thing as this is the first time he’s actually had to confront the reality that there are indeed mice. I on the other hand, with much more time to adjust, am judiciously planning out a comprehensive warfare strategy which will hopefully conclude with at least one dead mouse.
After having accomplished all this in one night it was naturally pretty late. So we headed upstairs around 1:30 am and drifted off. Around that that point where my mind shuts off or at least floats beyond my grasp, and my head starts getting heavier, I hear Chloe. Now let me preface this with a few explanations of our rather peculiar cat (and this is the point where I have to embarrassingly admit that yes, I have psychoanalyzed my cat)…it is my theory that she was taken away from her mother too early, and thus was not left with any discernable instincts. Although she lived with Tiger for a couple of years apparently none of his skills transferred to her in any way- except the one where she now jumps on counters. Case in point- in our old apartment Tiger would rip the heads off mice and leave them on the rug for us to find. (maybe you can see where this is going…) The only things Chloe will play with are a string, Clint’s arm in a sweatshirt, and a sock stuffed with catnip. When she plays with this sock she puts it in her mouth, runs up the stairs, and makes a noise that can only be described as a muffled mix between meowing and the sound humans make when they can successfully master the rolling R sound of the Spanish language.
So- around 1:50 I wake up to Chloe making this noise. Normally this would not be concerning in anyway, but we have a lazy cat, which is to say that as soon as it gets dark she can only be seen moving between the couch, the bed, and her food bowl. So I wake Clint up and tell him “Chloe’s making that noise.” There is one other time this has happened in our house it resulting in me seeing in the dark what I have sworn is a mouse. After setting traps and not seeing a thing, Clint decided that indeed we have no mice, while I felt it could only be an indication that we have the smartest mice ever. So Tuesday, after we hear this ‘something in her mouth’ sound followed by Chloe scrambling like mad across the room, I have the feeling that Clint’s starting to believe me now. In what is a completely nonsensical response, we both leap to our feet to stand on the bed, and Clint decides to straddle the bed and the dresser to turn on the lamp.
And what do we see- but Chloe standing there with the mouse in her mouth. For me I say “see” theoretically because of course that was the three nights a year that I am not sleeping in my contacts so I didn’t actually see a thing. I commence making some sort of ridiculous noise, horrified at the thought that the cat that curls up to me at night is now poisoned with mouse disease, which makes her run into the other room and drop it. At this point we feel safe enough to step on the floor. I grab my glasses and we peek our heads around the corner with our tiny flash light, and we are confronted with a horrifying image- the mouse slowing vertically climbing up the wooden leg of our desk. Vertically. Climbing. Slowly. Now I realized they could get up on things from stories of them being on counters, but I guess in the back of my head I just imagined there was some sort of stair stepping process to the whole thing- not vertically climbing. The implications ran like wildfire through my mind- they could climb up the stairs, they could climb into our cabinets- they could climb into our bed! (that is if Chloe doesn’t loving toss it there for us). Which believe me if that happens, you will hear my scream from where you are; wherever you are.
We carried on with our brilliant plan to trap the mouse in the room with a cheese loaded trap, with towels stuffed under the door to trap it, and headed off to bed, sure that our efforts would successfully commence with one dead mouse. Now this may be the end of the story if you have forgotten my aforementioned conclusion that we have the smartest mice ever. Somehow our mouse evaded capture, and is living in what I can only assume is one of our shoes (they are of course all kept on the floor of the closet in what I’m now lovingly referring to as the ‘mouse room'). Clint is still a bit traumatized by the whole thing as this is the first time he’s actually had to confront the reality that there are indeed mice. I on the other hand, with much more time to adjust, am judiciously planning out a comprehensive warfare strategy which will hopefully conclude with at least one dead mouse.
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