Thursday, 29 December 2011

How's this for a Back-From-Holiday Post?

And by holiday, I mean hanging out in my living room playing computer games and dancing like MJ on the Wii.

It was probably way scarier than this movie.
So last night at around 1AM, I decided that I should probably go to bed like normal people. So I started to go through my whole go to bed routine; check the doors to make sure that Andrew locked them, check to make sure that Andrew fed the cats, wash face, brush teeth, pass out. After the face washing and before the teeth brushing, I realized that Lucy wasn't following me around like she usually does at night. I called her, nothing. So I go to check what was going on. The night of terror started there.

I found Lucy in the living room, staring under our piano. (Yes, we have a piano. Cause we're awesome. I'm just proud of owning a piano.) Both of the cats we're staring under the piano too. I'm thinking they probably just lost one of their toys, so I grab a flashlight and look with them. I find their toy mouse, which is extremely realistic. I then distinctly remember thinking "Wow, I don't remember it having shiny eyes." As I stand up, I see that their mouse toy is on the couch.

Reasoning quickly helps me figure out that oh my God, it's a real mouse under the piano.

I ran to the bedroom and woke Andrew up with "There's a mouse under the piano." His sleepy response is ""

Me: Did you hear me? THERE'S A MOUSE IN OUR HOUSE!
Andrew: It's one in the morning, what do you want me to do about it?
Me: I want you to get it and take it outside!
(I would like to point out that the panic is setting in and my replies become successively higher-pitched.)
Andrew: Just come to bed Christine.
Me: How can I sleep when THERE'S A MOUSE UNDER THE PIANO!?!?
After a few minutes of my frantic shrieking, he got up, grabbed a broom stick and a box, and heroically set out to capture the mouse. As I stood at our bedroom door frame, ready to bolt Lord-knows-where and occasionally calling out "Andrew? Do you have it?"

I also called my mother to let her know that we had a mouse in our house. She was unhelpful.

I just want to point out here that I am not scared of mice. They are cute and they make pretty dresses for future-princesses (I wonder if Kate Middleton had seamstress mice?). I also like to visit them in pet stores when I'm feeling sad. However, I now know that I am scared of mice in my house. Terrified is a better word actually.

Apparently Sako had it in her mouth at one point, but then it escaped to under the couch, to under the lazyboy, to behind the washer and dryer, which are right next to the bedroom. It is at this point that Lucy somehow managed to catch it and proceeded to run up to me with it in her mouth.

I screamed as I have never screamed before in my life. Then slammed the door shut and jumped up on the bed. (As if that would help.)

Half an hour after it all began, Andrew admitted defeat when the mouse somehow hid under our kitchen cupboards. I then proceeded to panic even more and cry. Andrew, being a horrible man, laughed everytime I said "there's a mouse in our house" because it "sounded cute". His sleep-fogged brain clearly wasn't comprehending the calamity of the situation.

So there I was, standing on the bed and crying, when Andrew said he was giving up, and that I should just go to bed. After a few minutes of talking me down off the ledge (of the bed) I agreed to brush my teeth (with him  escorting me, in case the mouse came back) and go to bed (but not before I stuffed the bottom of the door with clothes, so the mouse couldn't come in). For over an hour, I laid in bed wide awake, scared that the mouse would come back and chew off chunks of my hair like what happened to Pa in the Little House on the Prairie series. Everytime the wall creaked from the wind, I imagined a horde (horde? What do you call a group of mice?) of mice crawling in our attic.

The adrelaline eventually left my body and I passed out cold.

Having finally mustered the courage to leave the fortress I call my bedroom, I am now typing this on my couch, making sure my feet don't touch the ground and keeping an eye on the pets in case they spot it again (since I don't have my glasses on and I'm too scared to look around for them).

I have no idea what I'll do if I actually see it.

Yes, I realize that I am treating this itty bitty mouse as if it was a zombie, but I have never suggested that my brain is rational. 

What it actually looked like.

What it looked like to me last night.


  1. 1. I love you.
    2. I love the Little House on the Prairie reference. Seriously. Gold.
    3. A group of mice is commonly referred to as a family, and also as a horde, a mischief, or simply, and most frequently, a nest of mice.

    Other collective nouns describing mice include a colony and a harvest. The former is self-explanatory; the latter from the fact mice and other rodents nest in the dry stubble of wheat and other cereal plants following the harvest.

    Read more:

    So you were right ^_^
    I hope it didn't eat your hair!

  2. I just did a silent Fist Pump of Triumph. I felel like a won Jepoardy. Although I wish I would have used the term mischief instead, as it seems more fitting.

    Also, as an update, the mouse is still MIA. Because it's dead and rotting somewhere, the cats ate it or it waived its white flag and ran off, I have no idea. Which makes it so much more suspenseful. I hate suspense.


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