Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Who Needs A Mousetrap?

I want to preface this entry by saying that I never believed in mousetraps. They've always seemed inhumane to me. It would be like someone luring me with a chocolate bar. Come on, Mia. Get the chocolate. Then... smack! I'm ensnared for following the delicious treat.

I didn't sleep well last night. At an ungodly hour, I was awakened by an intense scratching and fumbling noise in the guest bedroom. My dog sleeps in that room and I could hear a commotion and her collar jingling. I tried to ignore it, but then I thought she may be having a seizure.

So, I got up and checked to see if she was ok. She was walking in circles and then madly pawing at the curtain across the room. It was as if she was out of her mind. She was insanely focused on something.

My first thought was that she had a brain tumor and was in a crazy stage. I heard about a dog that had a brain tumor and one day, it just started walking in circles. That seemed plausible in my tired mind, until I saw my dog walking toward me with a tuft of black fur in her mouth. I thought that maybe she had been attacking a toy.

I turned on the light (because it was an ungodly hour in the morning and still dark outside). When I turned on the light, there was a mouse laying on her dogbed. I screamed. It didn't move. I ran into my bedroom and figured my dog would eat the mouse.

I tried to return to sleep, but I couldn't. Tossing and turning, I thought of the dogs that kill rodents and leave them as presents on their owner's doorstep. And the cat. Oh my God! The cat. Once she gets a hold of this thing, she could carry it onto my bed.

I shreaked and ran downstairs. Where is the cat during this whole debacle? Aren't cats supposed to hunt mice? Shouldn't she have at least been in the room, lured by the delicious rodent smell?

The cat ran upstairs, went into the room, and walked away. How lazy can you get? Of course, I know this, because I nervously observed her behavior from a safe spot in the hallway.

I thought about moving the mouse, because I would have to return upstairs and sleep. I didn't want to worry about a mouse in my bed. So, I grabbed a broom, a dustpan, and a plastic bag. I was going to be brave. Tom is away and I normally scream and allow him to take care of any wildlife problems.

I have to move this mouse or it will smell like dead animal upstairs. I inch toward the rodent and it appears to be alive and staring at me. I scream and decide to wait.

A while later, I try again. The mouse is now on the dogbed, on its back, with its legs in the air. Clearly, the animal is dead. Clearly. I squirm and attempt to sweep it directly into the plastic bag. This is no joke. The mouse gets up and moves across the room!

It wasn't dead. It was frozen in fear, pretending to be dead, so that my dog would leave it alone. It's face was mangled, fur wet, and still alive.

I screamed and ran downstairs. The next few hours, I had the kind of nausea where you sweat and feel desperate for fresh air. I was sure that I would throw up. For what reason, I do not know.

My dog and cat ran up into the bedroom and I heard commotion off and on over the next few hours. I got brave and checked on the carnage. The mouse appeared to be dead and on the dogbed. The cat was staring at it in the bedroom. I lured kitty out of the room and shut the door.

Now, I am waiting for the mouse to peacefully die from its injuries (or live and go back to its home). I'm not sure when I will finally be convinced that it will not run across the room when I try to remove it. I really don't want to look at it again. Does anyone have any ideas on how to proceed?

This reminds me of an episode of Sex and the City where Carrie is sleeping and a mouse crawls in her bed. It nibbles on her ear. Her boyfriend says where there is one, there will be more. Oh great. I may have an infestation on my hands... and a very lazy cat.