DID I KILL STUART?
it was about 1:00 in the morning when my body won the debate with my inner scardy cat about whether or not to get up and go to the bathroom. i wasn't sleeping or anything, just reading in bed and wanting to stay there until morning. there's something spooky about this house at night. it's not like there's any spooky past house-history, unless I completely missed a murder-suicide or something in the years that my family has lived in it. i do think it's built on the site of a haunted barn, but that's a completely different story, which did not take place roughly two days ago in my bathroom. wait, but that's skipping ahead. sorry. so i've established that the house itself isn't haunted, but it is a very large house which by it's looks would be perfect for an ax murderer lurk into to murder any of our axes. hey, we have axes. it could happen.
*brief pause while i stare into space and try to decide why ax murderers are described as "ax murderers," but people who murder with ginsu knives or frying pans are not labeled as "ginsu knife murderers" or "frying pan murderers."*
anyway. i think I've made my point. it is a creepy large house with lots of dark corners and unfinished rooms for psychopaths to hide in, just waiting for me to lose the battle to my inner "i have to pee" voice and make a break for the bathroom.
boy, have i talked up the start of this story. now i'm sure you're wondering what terrible thing happened to me on the way to the bathroom. well, obviously nothing too terrible, as i am sitting at the computer a mere two days later and typing this post. unless, of course, this is not me at all. possibly, the psychopath ginsu knife murderer has sliced and diced my body to pieces, discovered my blog, and decided to reform and become a writer.
*brief pause while i stare into space and contemplate the absurdity of this scenario.*
so there i was, pushing open the door to the bathroom, about to flick on the light, when i heard.....
eeek!!! a scritchy scratchy noise!
do psychopath ginsu knife murderers make scritchy scratchy noises? not really having any idea, i flicked on the light, peered around the door, and saw.....
....absolutely nothing. empty bathroom. total disarray, but it's always like that. i'm messier than ten ginsu knife murderers put together on my neatest day. (assuming our particular ginsu knife murderer has a bit of an organizational problem.)
moments later, i was sitting on the toilet, minding my own business, when i saw......
....the cutest little tiny mouse that ever scared a person into nearly falling off a toilet.
i would love to exaggerate and say he was huge, and scaly tailed, with fangs and pointy claws, but honestly, this little guy was the nerdiest looking itty bitty thing I ever saw. this was a brunette stuart little without the glasses, the type of mouse who got beaten up for his lunch money every day on the way to school.
he ran and tried to climb the wall in the corner by the sink. without even stopping to pull up my underwear, i gave chase with the only weapon i had at hand; a roll of toilet paper. i'm not sure if i was planning to try and trap him in the cardboard tube, or roll him up like a mummy, but it seemed like a good weapon at the time. after all, it wasn't exactly a rabid wildebeest.
a mad chase around the bathroom ensued, with the mouse scrabbling over, around and behind objects, and me lurking threateningly with my charmin, bobbing and weaving and trying to cut off all escape routes. finally, the round ended to a silent bell, and we each went to our corners to regroup. well, he sat in his corner and i brandished the toilet paper from the middle of the floor. at this point, I decided to reason with him. he did, after all, look like a reasonable chap. he certainly appeared to be listening.
"look here," i said in a placating tone. "i don't want to have to kill you, so how 'bout you be a sport and just have a heart attack on your own? i can see your heart beating from here. a heart attack wouldn't be a stretch."
"boooooooo!"
the mouse continued to stare at me, slightly agog.
"boo!" (slightly louder this time, as i sensed i was dealing with a mouse made of sterner stuff than his demeanor implied.)
nothing. however, the mouse did look like he was inching uneasily toward the space underneath the door.
"so, stuart. can i call you stuart? you know, from the movie? stuart little? did you watch it? well, regardless. if i had a motorcycle for you to ride away on, i would send you on your way with best wishes, but as the situation stands, it's not going down like that. now you can go quietly, or you can cause a scene, and one of us is going to get hurt. what's it gonna be, little man?"
i may have imagined it, but at this juncture, i think he thumbed his nose at me. that was the last straw. i picked up the shampoo bottle, set down the charmin, and took aim. apparently, the mouse has seen me play catch with my nephews. he was all but rolling on the floor laughing. i have to admit i had no more faith in my ability to hit him than he did. in truth, i was really just trying to wipe the smug little smile off his whiskery face. i aimed my best and whipped the bottle at him. drops of shampoo flew one way, and stuart flew the other! he landed, stunned. i stared, just as stunned. he dashed for the up the sink, not slowed down in the slightest by his recent misadventure with the clinique essences. this time i threw my other weapon at him : the toilet paper roll. it it swept him to the rim straight down to the garbage can. i grabbed the small tray where i put my toiletries and covered the trash can and trapped him in there. i did a little one-footed victory dance in celebration (the other foot was holding down the tray covering thegarbage can, as if wimpy little stuart was capable of lifting it up and escaping).
then i stopped, arms raised, mid wiggle.
now that i had him, what the heck was i going to do with him? what do you do with a mouse trapped under a garbage can in the middle of the night when there is no one else home to squeal and commiserate with you?
what you do is this:
get a cookie sheet. slide the cookie sheet carefully under the garbage can. flip the whole contraption over carefully, making sure not to uncover the garbage can. walk quickly out through the dark country night until you get to the neighbor's property, where there is a bright yard light. take the cookie sheet off the garbage can, stare solemnly down at the mouse in the bottom, shake your head and say "well, little guy, i wish it didn't have to end this way. good luck with the neighbors." flip the mouse out of the can and into the ditch, and run back home through the cold january air.
so here i sit, two days after, wondering if the mouse is dead..or just out there somewhere shivering in the cold, or if he beat me back to the house. maybe he had his motorcycle parked out there for just such an emergency. a little part of me (the defeated scardy cat part) is wondering whether he is out there gathering a small mouse army to come back and exact revenge on me for my intolerance toward rodents in general.
*brief pause while i stare into space and try to decide why ax murderers are described as "ax murderers," but people who murder with ginsu knives or frying pans are not labeled as "ginsu knife murderers" or "frying pan murderers."*
anyway. i think I've made my point. it is a creepy large house with lots of dark corners and unfinished rooms for psychopaths to hide in, just waiting for me to lose the battle to my inner "i have to pee" voice and make a break for the bathroom.
boy, have i talked up the start of this story. now i'm sure you're wondering what terrible thing happened to me on the way to the bathroom. well, obviously nothing too terrible, as i am sitting at the computer a mere two days later and typing this post. unless, of course, this is not me at all. possibly, the psychopath ginsu knife murderer has sliced and diced my body to pieces, discovered my blog, and decided to reform and become a writer.
*brief pause while i stare into space and contemplate the absurdity of this scenario.*
so there i was, pushing open the door to the bathroom, about to flick on the light, when i heard.....
eeek!!! a scritchy scratchy noise!
do psychopath ginsu knife murderers make scritchy scratchy noises? not really having any idea, i flicked on the light, peered around the door, and saw.....
....absolutely nothing. empty bathroom. total disarray, but it's always like that. i'm messier than ten ginsu knife murderers put together on my neatest day. (assuming our particular ginsu knife murderer has a bit of an organizational problem.)
moments later, i was sitting on the toilet, minding my own business, when i saw......
....the cutest little tiny mouse that ever scared a person into nearly falling off a toilet.
i would love to exaggerate and say he was huge, and scaly tailed, with fangs and pointy claws, but honestly, this little guy was the nerdiest looking itty bitty thing I ever saw. this was a brunette stuart little without the glasses, the type of mouse who got beaten up for his lunch money every day on the way to school.
he ran and tried to climb the wall in the corner by the sink. without even stopping to pull up my underwear, i gave chase with the only weapon i had at hand; a roll of toilet paper. i'm not sure if i was planning to try and trap him in the cardboard tube, or roll him up like a mummy, but it seemed like a good weapon at the time. after all, it wasn't exactly a rabid wildebeest.
a mad chase around the bathroom ensued, with the mouse scrabbling over, around and behind objects, and me lurking threateningly with my charmin, bobbing and weaving and trying to cut off all escape routes. finally, the round ended to a silent bell, and we each went to our corners to regroup. well, he sat in his corner and i brandished the toilet paper from the middle of the floor. at this point, I decided to reason with him. he did, after all, look like a reasonable chap. he certainly appeared to be listening.
"look here," i said in a placating tone. "i don't want to have to kill you, so how 'bout you be a sport and just have a heart attack on your own? i can see your heart beating from here. a heart attack wouldn't be a stretch."
"boooooooo!"
the mouse continued to stare at me, slightly agog.
"boo!" (slightly louder this time, as i sensed i was dealing with a mouse made of sterner stuff than his demeanor implied.)
nothing. however, the mouse did look like he was inching uneasily toward the space underneath the door.
"so, stuart. can i call you stuart? you know, from the movie? stuart little? did you watch it? well, regardless. if i had a motorcycle for you to ride away on, i would send you on your way with best wishes, but as the situation stands, it's not going down like that. now you can go quietly, or you can cause a scene, and one of us is going to get hurt. what's it gonna be, little man?"
i may have imagined it, but at this juncture, i think he thumbed his nose at me. that was the last straw. i picked up the shampoo bottle, set down the charmin, and took aim. apparently, the mouse has seen me play catch with my nephews. he was all but rolling on the floor laughing. i have to admit i had no more faith in my ability to hit him than he did. in truth, i was really just trying to wipe the smug little smile off his whiskery face. i aimed my best and whipped the bottle at him. drops of shampoo flew one way, and stuart flew the other! he landed, stunned. i stared, just as stunned. he dashed for the up the sink, not slowed down in the slightest by his recent misadventure with the clinique essences. this time i threw my other weapon at him : the toilet paper roll. it it swept him to the rim straight down to the garbage can. i grabbed the small tray where i put my toiletries and covered the trash can and trapped him in there. i did a little one-footed victory dance in celebration (the other foot was holding down the tray covering thegarbage can, as if wimpy little stuart was capable of lifting it up and escaping).
then i stopped, arms raised, mid wiggle.
now that i had him, what the heck was i going to do with him? what do you do with a mouse trapped under a garbage can in the middle of the night when there is no one else home to squeal and commiserate with you?
what you do is this:
get a cookie sheet. slide the cookie sheet carefully under the garbage can. flip the whole contraption over carefully, making sure not to uncover the garbage can. walk quickly out through the dark country night until you get to the neighbor's property, where there is a bright yard light. take the cookie sheet off the garbage can, stare solemnly down at the mouse in the bottom, shake your head and say "well, little guy, i wish it didn't have to end this way. good luck with the neighbors." flip the mouse out of the can and into the ditch, and run back home through the cold january air.
so here i sit, two days after, wondering if the mouse is dead..or just out there somewhere shivering in the cold, or if he beat me back to the house. maybe he had his motorcycle parked out there for just such an emergency. a little part of me (the defeated scardy cat part) is wondering whether he is out there gathering a small mouse army to come back and exact revenge on me for my intolerance toward rodents in general.
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