I dislike mice.
So when my sister told me that she had a mouse in her house I physically felt my pupils dilate.
“Did you get traps?” I casually asked.
“Yes, but because of the kids we have called them little-micey-hotels.”
Oh,
I thought.
Little Micey Hotels?
I imagine the brochure…
Check in little mice!
Room service cheese!
Your Landlord this evening is…
Norman baits.
My Mum tells my sister that if she has found one, there is bound to be more.
I’m horrified. These fockers work in packs?
She says,
“No probs, I bought a few of those hotels.”
She explains that the little-micey-hotels lure the beasts in and then seal- so they have no way of escaping,
“That way,” she says “you can later release the mouse into the wild.”
Release the mouse into the wild????
I sit wondering if the toilet bowl is considered the wild?
And anyway I think…since when-the-hell did she get so rodent-carey-feely-touchy???
I still remember the unholy sound she made the day a mouse paid us a visit.
We were young, still living together with Mum when she spotted the brown monster flashing across the hallway floor.
While Mum chased the damn thing around the house, we jumped from couch to chair offering helpful advice like:
GET IT!
KILL IT!
SMACK IT!
DESTROY IT!
AARGH!
Our intent was single focused. We wanted that fur-ball of mass destruction dead and gone. At any cost.
Mum finally cornered the shivering thing near the front door. She swiped it once, then twice with her giant broom. It ran to hide near the door-hinges and Mum slammed the door shut.
There was a squelch.
VICTORY! She cried.
OH!
We sobbed,
You killed it!!!! poor thing, what a terrible way to die!!!!!!! How could you do that? What were you thinking??????? It was just an innocent mouse. Really…You’re sooo mean. Sooooo self centered.
Nobody wanted to open the door, fearful of blood and guts.
We were all grossed out. But we squarely blamed Mum and never thought once that we had incited the damage done.
She was the only one of us brave enough to assess the mess. The body of the mouse lay still, unmoving.
Together we moved in closer to have a look.
The hairy-shite squirmed and shot away.
The little bas-turd had just been playing dead. Planning its next move.
GET IT!!!!!!!!!
KILL IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We shouted as we leapt back to the safety of our comfortably high chairs. Shaking our fists indignantly.
At the end of our lovely evening together I drive my sister and mum home.
As we say goodbye I ask her if she is really going to errr… release the mouse into the garden?
“Not likely!” she laughs, “It’s just what we’re telling the kids.”
“Coming in for a coffee?” she offers kindly.
“Thanks,” I say ” but , no focking way I really need an early night.”
I gun the engine and floor it home.