Mouse In My House

So, it’s a lovely, lazy Saturday morning. Kevin is still in bed, and the dog has opted to stay there with him. I suspect taking over my side of the bed is infinitely more pleasing to her than watching me cruise my favourite blogs and websites. I have no major plans for this weekend, besides reading and doing some painting so I started it in a way that I’ve loved ever since I bought my first computer (oh Macintosh Peforma, we were such good friends): That is, with a huge pot of coffee and the Internet. Two of my favourite things.

Well, I just went upstairs to get my third cup of coffee. The main floor looked really pretty, all muted colours and shadows created by the overcast light filtering through the skylight and the glass door in the kitchen. I was thinking how much I love living here when a tiny tailed figure zipped across the kitchen floor from beneath the sink toward the cabinet on the facing wall.

My heart leapt into my throat and I froze briefly. My first reaction was to scream, "POCO I NEED YOUR HELP DOWN HERE!" But then I remembered that my cat hasn’t left the spare bedroom since January and the arrival of the dog. My second thought was, "I can’t think unless I get another cup of coffee." Because what you really need when you’re already freaking out is more caffeine.

So bravely I entered the kitchen, all the while my heart beating ten million times a second, expecting the mouse to run over my foot or up my leg and under my nighttie. I’m sure the mouse was thinking, "Oh shit, she saw me! Now she’s going to set a trap and I’m FUCKED!" Actually, what I was thinking was that I must have been delusional when I innocently hoped that the cats had scared off all the mice when we were away.

But yeah, you’re right you little bastard, you are fucked now! I’m on your ass!

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