I Saw It, Too!
I have been relatively comfortable during this pandemic. We have a warm, spacious house. My husband still has a job so we have food. Since he works in healthcare, but not on the front lines, we’ve even got access to quality PPE. Our kids have been home – and wonderful – for 10 months.
Whereas Bill was on my last nerve by the end of March 2020, he’s okay now. I’ve certainly spent more time with him. And my dog has been the greatest blessing of the whole, miserable year.
I’ve spent my days lounging and researching whatever pops into my head. I’ve gotten to know some long-ago friends a little better through social media. Most of the days have been pleasant enough weather for a relaxing, long walk. And I have done stupid amounts of online shopping, once again guaranteeing that I’ve finished Christmas preparations before the holidays even started.
In the evenings, Bill and I generally sit around for an hour or two and watch TV. And that’s just what we were doing the other night – relaxing and mindlessly gazing at the TV – when we both saw it. In the adjacent room, something streaked across the floor.
“I just saw a mouse!” I screamed, leaping to my feet.
“I saw it, too!” Bill said, much calmer and not leaping.
We have had mice before. It’s a nightmare. Exterminators checked our house, and plugged up one hole on our 2004-built house, where the A/C hose connects. The property is secure. The only way a mouse could get in now is through our garage door, which is impossible to fully barricade.
Our house is clean, with all new flooring and carpets. Our food is always packaged and put away. We don’t have piles of crap where mice could live. There has been no evidence of mice anywhere for years. And after our prior experience, we’ve been very, very cautious.
But on this night, there was evidence that we somehow hadn’t done enough.
The mouse darted under the jukebox – a 1960s Wurlitzer – and peeked out as we came closer. It was definitely a mouse. And we had it surrounded.
But that’s where our advantage stopped. It moved like lightning. We couldn’t catch it. We couldn’t trap it. We couldn’t even lure it into any of our baited mousetraps – the ones Bill ran to get from the garage, which we tossed all around the jukebox.
Unfortunately, it was a smart mouse. And we know that if there’s one smart mouse, there are probably a few dozen more nearby.
We stared at the jukebox. I pushed it around a bit, hoping to frighten it into one of the traps. Eventually, we gave up and went to bed.
The next night, when I’d forgotten all about it, it raced from under the TV directly at me, and hid under my seat. I only hope it’s the same, singular mouse.
We have traps and poison all over the house now – safely away from the dog, of course. But my warm, comfortable haven is no longer a pleasant respite from the world outside.
Now it’s a war zone. I wear big slipper boots to protect myself, but I tiptoe around, sure that I could be scampered upon at any moment.
I mistakenly prayed for God to send the mouse out of the house on its own. I didn’t want to hurt the mouse. Since I am a big believer in the power of prayer, I am now afraid that it might leave on its own, and I’ll never know that it’s gone.
I’ll just stay frightened of my own floor.