Intruder! pt. 2

The new traps were bought.  They were left in the bag, in the pantry.  A sure deterrent to any kind of pest.  Things had seem to have gone quiet.  Tonya was afraid that the little guy had pulled his feet off or something and would crawl up in the oven and die.  The thought of a rotting mouse in your oven is enough to make anyone feel uneasy.  However!  The good guy that I am, I had already checked the trap and there were no limbs left behind.  He was still in one piece, and I knew he was plotting revenge.

I don’t know why we did not lay the traps out right away.  I guess we thought we would be safe for a bit, that the mouse would have the fear in him. 

One evening around coffee time (which precedes the ritual of cooking dinner); Tonya stood in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen and said, “I saw him!  I think I just saw him!”  I get up and walk over to her and look at the fridge.  “You sure?  Where” and I start walking to the fridge.  “On the back.  He ran down the back” were the instructions Tonya gave.  I walk over and take a look.  I purposely bang the fridge, and muscle it around a bit, to see if he will drop or make a run for it.  No sign of him.  He’s a genius, well, or maybe just very small.  He has managed to evade us again, and be somewhere in back of the fridge. Awesome, from the oven to the fridge…what next.

I tell Tonya I will get the traps out and lay them.  She says not too, because she doesn’t want the dogs to mess with them, and she is about to start cooking and does not want mouse dramas in the kitchen while she is at work.  Ok.  So be it.

For the next few days, I check the traps by the oven regularly.  Still there.  No signs of chaos or trespassing. Good.  A few more days pass and no signs.  Of course by now, the thought of the traps has eluded us.  We have gotten lazy in our false reality that perhaps he left for greener pastures.

One morning we up and started our morning routine again.  Tonya had left a few tortillas wrap wrapped up and a freezer bag out which had some bread in it.  As she was starting to make the morning brew, she says aloud like a kind of Sherlock Holmes way, “A ha!   He’s back!”  I immediately look to her for whatever clue she is honing in on.  She starts to laugh, and holds up the freezer bag to show the hole nibbled into it.  Nice.  Then she is beaming brightly when she holds up two tortillas with little bite marks in both of them.  Admittedly, it is a funny sight.  I laugh too.

It appears that mice like tortillas.

The unfunny side is that this means he is crawling on the counter where we do loads of food prep and keep the fruit bowl, etc.  This geeks me out totally.  Like some sort of sissy, I immediately let out an astonished, “Does this mean he’s been crawling across my apples?” I am truly horrified.  Tonya acts the mom and reassures me that he is probably not too interested in my granny smiths, but more in the bready stuff, or the cookies and junk that may be on the counter.  In any case, I am grossed out and will not stop talking or thinking about it for quite a while.  I don’t want the plague or any other mouse disease…and I do not want him on my apples.  For him, it’s as if he has bloodlust.  He has moved from the oven to the fridge, now onto the counter and is eating holes into bags and helping himself to tortillas.  This must end-sooner than later!

Whatever.  A small mouse episode this morning will not ruin our day.  We have too much to do.  It is as good as forgotten as soon as we are finishing up the last of the coffee, and doing our routines.  We go about the things we have to do and all seems well. We venture out and do some shopping to get groceries for the next few days. Around coffee time we go over our dinner plans and go over the latest tidbits of the day.  I tell Tonya I am gonna disappear and nerd out with some computer junk or listen to records.   I get wrapped up in my clowning around and am brought back into reality when she yells, “OK.  It’s ready!”  Like some kind of kid, I am up and bounding down the stairs to an aromatic kitchen and hunger in my belly.

We are having a lovely salad and some middle-eastern food.  The salad is king, with Tonya’s secret weapon dressing.   I tell her everything is great, but it all pales in comparison to the salad.  (Yes, it is that good)  We sit and eat as it starts to rain outside.  I like the rain here, it is peaceful.  We are already discussing what movie we will watch tonight.  I suppose we were both hearing something but not saying anything, but at the exact moment we both looked at one another and said the same thing, “What is that noise?”  Tonya was quick to answer her own question, “I think it’s Dash in there, drinking water” I put my utensils down and get up to see who is making the big scene in the kitchen.  I peer in, and no one is there.  I walk back in to the den and look on the couch, all the dogs are sprawled out on the couch and chairs.  “Nope.  I guess it was just the rain”, and I return to the table to continue my Romanesque gorging on delights.  It does not take long before the commotion starts again.  We both look at one another again and simultaneously reach the same decision, “I bet it is that little bastard again” I say.  I get up and start back into the kitchen.

I stand there and look to where the noise is coming from.   There is a paper bag on the counter with some special cookies I had just bought this afternoon, my special coffee time treats.  The bag was moving, “It’s him!  He’s in the bag…” I exclaim.  Before I finish Tonya is by my side, watching the paper bag bob from side to side.  Neither of us can believe the audacity this little guy has.  I start to look closer, and do not see a hole.  I get down to table level and peer into the shadow, between the bag and the fruit bowl.  There he is.  He is keeping cover under the lip of the fruit bowl, and trying to tear his way into the bag, and then make off with my favorite cookies. “Look, he’s there, beside the bowl”, and then Tonya bends down to see the furry fiend.  My mind goes back to my initial fear and I blurt out, “I told you!  The little bastard is walking on my apples!”  Tonya asks the obvious, “What are we going to do?” I reach for the bag, and push it aside.  The little guy heads straight to the fridge.  I move to the fridge and push it out a bit, trying to follow his trail.  Like before, he’s vanished.

We sit back down and resume our meal.  Tonya says to mess with the mouse, after dinner.  Let’s just enjoy the evening now.  Anyway, there is loads of good food.  I keep looking sideways, into the kitchen to see if the little turd comes back out.  I keep a keen eye on the bag.  It could not have been 10 minutes before the bag rustles and I see him pushing it around.  I get up and Tonya immediately realizes what is going on.

“I’m getting the traps” I say as I walk into the pantry.  Tonya is perturbed.  “What are you going to do with them?  Come sit down and finish, I don’t want to deal with a mouse now” No.  I am stubborn.  I am a man and now I am faced with defeating an enemy, one who is flagrant and invasive.  I have decided that this will end, tonight.  As I am opening the traps, Tonya is lamenting form the dining room, “I don’t want to deal with a dead mouse while I am eating”

“He won’t die.  He is just going to be stuck” I say back.

“Well, you’ll kill him…”she says back.

“No I won’t.  He will be stuck.  All I am going to do is pick him up and throw him in the trash”

“Yeah, but then he will be dying…”

“Look.  I am tired of this little turd messing around with us.  Look at him!  He is coming out trying to steal our stuff while we are sitting here!” I am sure I have pulled the traps apart and I lay one at the side of the fridge, and the other on the counter, beside the fridge, directly in his path to my apples and cookies.

“What did you do, where did you put them?” Tonya asks from the table.

“I put one beside the fridge and the other on the counter” I explain as I sit back down.  Tonya looks a bit worried and continues, “Well…what if he comes back out?  He’s going to get stuck on the counter” I suppose this is the difference between male and female logic.  I try to explain to Tonya the strategy of placing it right where he will definitely go.  I want this to end, and I know he will be back out in no time.  To her, she is not so grossed out about him crawling around on the counter, or getting my cookies and apples.  She is more concerned about a trapped mouse on the counter during dinner, and what the ensuing entrapment will mean.  She is reading way too much in to it all.

Maybe it was five minutes.  We are in mid conversation when the sound of a plastic trap scooting along a wooden counter could be heard. I immediately put my fork down, “A ha you bastard!” and I head to the kitchen.  Tonya gets up to.  She blurts out something like “I don’t want to see this” I grab a plastic bag I had waiting on the opposite counter.  Tonya goes outside; I ask her where she is going. “Going outside!  I am going to open the trash for you…” and her voice trails off.  I got my bag and then turn to my enemy.  He’s looking at me.  I can’t help but feel a bit thrilled that he fell for it.  At the same time, I feel a bit sad.  From this very moment, there is no turning back.  I stand there for a minute and look at him.  He is small, kind of cute.  He is trying to get off and keeping an eye on the tall guy with the bag.  Tonya yells from outside, “What’s happening?”  I yell back something about me just about to grab him.  I do feel sad, reaching for the trap.  He goes still and just looks at me sideways.  I have a brief thought of, ‘what if he turns on me.  I do not want dirty mouse teeth going into my fingers and me having to get rabies shots in my stomach’  My paranoia causes me to reach with extra caution.  I grab the corner of the trap, and slip it into the bag.  I tie it up, and head out side.

It is drizzling pretty heavy, and my eyes have not adjusted to the darkness. I ask quite abruptly, “Where are you?” to Tonya.  I don’t see her.  From the shadows I hear a very stern “I am here…” and she appears and walks right past.  She is angry.  She says I was yelling at her.  I told her I didn’t mean anything by it.  I am just a guy with a mouse in a bag trying to find the other trash bag in the darkness and drizzle. Before I can explain, she is already inside.  I drop the intruder off, and head back in, careful not to slip on the wet tiles inside.  Tonya is upset.  “That’s it.  I am finished” she says grabbing her cigarettes.  I am no clue what just happened. “You think I like messing with a mouse while I am trying to eat?” I say while washing my hands. “I lost my appetite. I told you I did not want a dead mouse during my dinner…” she says as she heads to smoke a cigarette of frustration. The logic kicks in, “He’s not dead!” I say.  From somewhere else in the house a quick and stern “…but he will be!” comes shooting out.

So.  I defeated my foe, and now sit alone at the dinner table.  Tonya is fuming and will not come back.  Yes, she truly has lost her appetite.  I am discouraged too. I have some solace though,  knowing  I defeated my foe and would have some sort of peace tonight….from the mouse, maybe not Tonya.    I sit alone at the table, like a complete fool, and clean my plate. It is good, and I eat some more.  Like I said, the salad is amazing! 

Intruder! (a mouse in the house)

For the last three nights, we have watched a trilogy on Netflix, “Red Riding”.  One episode each night.  Yes, I would and do recommend it to those who like a bit of a thinky- kind of mini-series.  It is a somewhat factual look into the certain facets of Northern England in the mid-70s to early 80’s.  I suppose you could say it is loosely based on the Yorkshire Ripper case from the late 70s.  In any case, it is good and you should watch it.

The first episode was fantastic.  I totally loved the feel of the film, and the shots were framed so nice.  It really was enjoyable to look at.  Whoever the guy was who shot it, he is very very good at cinematography.  With light rain and drizzle outside, this made for the perfect viewing to sink into the safety of the couch, watch from across the room at the madness unfolding, stopping every so often to ask the question, “You want something?”  This is the phrase which roughly translates to ‘can you get up and grab whatever junk food and snacky things we have piled up in the cabinet?’ Movies are always better with snacking on things you shouldn’t, right?

My curiosity was piqued.  As soon as we finished three nights of serial murders and police corruption, I was curious to know how much was fact and what was fiction.  Immediately the laptop was opened and Wikipedia punched in.  I scoured the info given, and was telling Tonya what I was reading.  I would sit and moan, oooh and ahh, and depending on what my noises were, Tonya would ask what was getting those responses.  Of course, she did have questions of her own too.  After taking in a brief overview I stood up in the cool blow glow of the TV screen, and started to explain some of the finer points of what we had just watched and what I had just read.  She sat in the corner of the couch, curled up under a blanket and politely listened to me as my late night discourse was dispensed.  I paced back and forth, motioning with my hands, excited by the information I had just received.  The film had me wound up, and we were practicing our amateur detective theories in our own living room. 

As I stood next to the window and had a brief moment to ponder, Tonya asks a totally irrelevant question, “Do you hear that?”  I was already silent, so I remained standing there listening for what I thought I should be listening for.  “Yes” I said.  It was raining, and I thought she was talking about the rain, so I resumed my theorizing again. 

“You did…you heard it?” she asked again, with her head somewhat tilted towards the kitchen.  I went quiet again and stood still.  All I could hear was the sound of rain.  “What am I supposed to hear?” I asked.

“I don’t know.  There is something in the kitchen” she said.  “What is in the kitchen?” was my obvious reply.  I walked into the kitchen and turned the light on.  “It sounds little…and scratchy, like a mouse or something.  You didn’t hear it?  It was scratching…you know, it sounds like little claws doing something” she said from the couch.  I walked back into the living room and looked at Tonya.  She obviously was not moving.  Was this for real, or just partly due to the Yorkshire Ripper and the typical noises one hears in an old house, on a rainy night after three nights in a row of watching creepy stuff?

I walk back into the kitchen and go to the opposite side of the room.  I survey the kitchen without making a sound.  I do hear a slight pittering and slightly scratchy sound.  I turn my head towards the area I hear it from.  I look in the corner by the trash can to see if there is a small furry creature going about his nightly business. Nope.  As I am turning to look elsewhere I see something I did not expect.  The sound is coming from the stove.  On the front left burner I see movement.  A small tail is sliding beneath the top of the stove. “Gross!” I shout out from the kitchen, “He’s in the stove!”  I could not believe it.  There is a mouse in our stove!  Tonya can’t believe it either, “What!” she shouts from the couch.  “That is disgusting.  I am not going in there. Get me a glass of water” she says. 

“I thought I saw something float across the kitchen floor right before we started the movie” she continues while I get her glass and go fetch some water, keeping an ever watchful eye on the burner, “It looked like a shadow…just flew across the tile.  I guess that was him” I had returned and sat the glass down.  As she starts to sip it I ask the question, “What are we gonna do now?”  Tonya was up now and gathering her things, “I am going to bed.  I don’t want to stay down here with the mouse” I remembered that we had two sticky gel traps, left over from a prior incident a few months back.  “Hey!  We have a few of those sticky traps left; you want me to put them out and try to catch him?”  She scuttles down the hall, turning lights off behind her and leaving a simple reply floating behind, “If you want.  What will we do if he is there in the morning?”

“Throw him out” I say, to the sound of footsteps ascending higher and higher.  I grab the traps, lay them on both sides of the stove and flip turn off the lights. 

As we brush our teeth we laugh about the situation.  Tonya confesses that it may be hard to sleep, knowing there is a little mouse in the house.  I agitate it more by cracking jokes.  We crawl into bed and cackle and giggle over the little furry thing in the oven.  The rain outside makes noises, followed by the obvious remark of, ‘OOH…is that him!’  We were nice and cozy now, just as the little guy downstairs was.  It was bedtime for both parties now.

The next morning Tonya lay in bed staring up at the ceiling asking the simple question, “What if he’s down there?”  She seems genuinely concerned.  “I will throw him out” I say. “You won’t let him loose…outside?” I reply back in shock, “What…so he can come creeping in again?  No.  I will throw him out in the trash or something” She stares at me, “Will you kill him?” “I wasn’t planning on it. I will just bag him up and put him in the trash” She gets up and starts the morning routine while adding, “I don’t want to touch him” and heads to the bathroom.  I lay there with the dogs, and do the regular morning greetings and ask them questions that they will never answer. 

I waited for Tonya to finish with the restroom before I make my move.  I brush my teeth and am sliding on my pants when I hear her exclaim a simple, “He’s here!”  I quickly slide my pants on and then some slippers and head downstairs.  Tonya is in the kitchen, pointing to the side of the stove.  I walk in, lean down and take a look.  I am a bit shocked.  The little mouse is sitting there like he was waiting on me.  He is sat up, looking straight at me with what I take to be a somewhat bemused look on his face.  I suppose we were both thinking the same thing; what now?  I get a good look and tell Tonya I will sort the little guy out.  However, first things first; coffee, glance at the latest headlines…you know the routine.

He's not as innocent as he looks.

 

I sit at the table and Tonya asks if I will take the mouse a few blocks down to an open field and let him loose. “Like I am going to walk all the way down there with a frantic mouse in a bag, and let him loose to terrorize someone else. No” is my simple reply.  I am not cold hearted, but when it comes to sharing with rodent, I opt out.  I want it all and those pesky guys can take a hike.  Tonya is sipping a cup of coffee. “Well, what are you going to do then?” she asks.  I tell her the truth.  I am going to have a bit of coffee, and then put my shoes on, and then get rid of the little mouse.  He isn’t going anywhere.  He is stuck on this very sticky tray.  I get up to go check.  He has scooted over a bit from his frantic attempts to break free.  I decide to go put my shoes on, and then take care of business.

Coming back down stairs I sit at the table to put my shoes on, and steal a few sips of coffee from Tonya.  She is impatient and fretting over the ordeal. I reassure her it is ok.  Laces tied, I am up and at ‘em.  I grab a bag and walk to the oven.  I lean down to get the little booger…and he’s vanished!  I can’t believe it.  I must have let out some sort of ‘I can’t believe he got away sound’ because Tonya asks from the dining room, “What?  What is it?”  Before I make it back into the dining room she’s guessed it, “He got away.”  Yes.  I hung my head in shame.  “Why did you take so long?” is her next question.  I didn’t think I did.  Just as long as it takes a guy to finally start moving as soon as he gets out of bed and is sitting in the dining room barefoot and is faced with disposing of a stuck mouse.  I guess it was longer than I thought, and surely long enough for the tricky little mouse to wedge the trap against the oven so he could pry himself free.

Tonya frowns and asks the obvious, what now?  I tell her we will get the little feller.  He may have slipped passed now, but he will pay dearly when the wrath of the Tim is unleashed.  I suppose this will mean heading to the store to buy some more sticky traps today.

…to be continued!

Get a haircut!

The poster which got my attention

It has been about three months since my last ‘do’.  For those unaware, I went quite short.  The new do was quite good, and I really enjoyed it for a change…but ‘dos’ grow out, and can leave you look pretty silly.  What was once a clean cut, 1930’s style cut, was now something of a bushy bowl-ish type thing sitting atop of my head.  To be honest, I was getting pretty embarrassed by it.

I managed to snip a bit off here and there, and even got Tonya to chop away a bit at it.  It was ok for a few weeks, but then back with a vengeance.  I had to get it shaped up.  I wish I could snap my fingers and be on the verge of a ’73 style mullet in no time, but this is reality.  One must suffer through their bowl phase before they get into the soccer player hair.  So be it.  I would have to tough it out, but I can do it with dignity.  I had to get rid of the bowl and get something that was a bit more ‘timeless’.

“I don’t know” Tonya said while eyeing up some local chop shops, “would you trust any of these?” she asks with some true concern.  “Well, where do you think all these people get their haircut?” was my simple reply.  I like styles that can look on the verge of being ‘bad’, so I was not that afraid.  Don’t get me wrong-there are millions of truly bad haircuts here.  Not good bad, but truly bad bad.  I must see thousands of faux-hawks a day…yes, it is en-vogue here. Get my drift? (Actually, the Mexicans here sport a lot of bad haircuts just like they do back in the States.)

So today we had some free time and we were in the neighborhood.  It was my big day.  I would get my first Mexican haircut.  I was about 70% excited and 30% apprehensive.  In any case, this was going to be an experience for me.

We had seen this one shop with those posters in the window that show the wide variety of cuts they can give, you know, similar to those African paintings of crazy cuts.  It just so happened that we were closest to this very shop, so we decided to walk by and have a look-see.  I thought it was empty and stuck my head in.  There were two barbers and two clients.  One guy cutting hair and the other was a little old man giving a guy an old time shave job in the corner.  We stalled for a minute, then Tonya asked how much. 50 pesos for a man’s cut.  Tonya said to come on in and we would do it.  As we sat down and waited for my turn, we were watching the guy in the corner get his shave done.  Tonya whispered to me, “I hope you don’t get that guy” she said motioning to the old fella.  “How can I?” I said as I pointed out that the other barber was whisking away hairs form his client, “the old guy is just getting started.  My guy is done.”

Sizing me up, envisioning his handywork

The barber shook the barber cape and invited up into his simple chair.  He wraps the cape around me and asks what I want.   I look to Tonya to explain.  She tells him that I like it messy.  Give it some shape, but do not cut too short.  I assume these are the instructions, but truthfully I have no idea.  The barber just nodded his head and grabbed a squirt bottle and started to spray me like a bad dog.

Wait.  Did he just use that comb on the previous guy?  I didn’t see any of those glowing purple lights that disinfect tools.  He just moved a towel and grabbed his tools and started to work.  I was a bit nervous.  I wanted a good, interesting cut.  I was not interested in taking anything else with me form the barber…like lice or some funky scalp disease.

Nothing to do but sit and watch...

Normally while you sit there and watch your locks drop to the floor (aside form the few that end up in your mouth or nostrils), you have some small talk with the barber.  Not me.  I just sat like an 8 year old and let the man do his job.  He did get to chat though, just not with me.  A lady came in and started talking to him.  He stopped and chatted, then handed her some keys.  I thought this interruption may throw him off a bit, but he kept right on going.  A few minutes later the lady came back and gave him his keys.  She said something that made him go outside.  He did this twice!  I looked in the mirror at Tonya.  She raised her eyebrows and shrugged.  Too late now, I am well into my new ‘do’.

He really didn’t take long at all.  When he grabbed the clippers to cut the fuzz on the back of my neck, I knew he was in the home stretch.  I look back to Tonya and this time she is nodding her head.  She thinks it looks ok!  The barber grabs the blow dryer and puts his final touches on.  He grabs a huge brush and whisks away my strays.  He stands aside and asks me what I think.  I assume he asks me this, as I didn’t understand him.  A quick glance shows no more bowl.  It looks a bit more controlled.  Tonya says it is good.  I stand up and nod, “muchas gracias” I tell him.  I am sincere.  I am happy with my cut.  I get some dough and a bit for a tip and as the next customer is getting in the chair, I hand it to my guy.  I tell him thank you once again, and he nods and smiles.  I walk to Tonya and she says, “It looks good.  I like it”

he's taking a break to talk to a lady...

Putting the final touches on

As we walk out of the shop Tonya is continuing with her opinion, “I think he did a great job.  He started in and kept it a decent length.  I think he did great for a $4 haircut…I would even go to him to get mine cut” She is dead serious. “Really! I think he did just what I told him.  He did a pretty stylish job for that little shop.  That would have cost you a lot more back home” I have no idea what the cut really looks like, but she is making me feel like a real suave dude.  As we stride down the stone streets I feel relieved.  I actually feel a few inches taller with new confidence.  I feel I can walk past any faux-hawk now and stare him down with my ‘in control’ style I’m sporting.  Believe me, it is a far cry from the ‘mom let me out to come play’ bowl-style that had grown on my head.

Now-it is the time trial.  Let’s give it a few days and see the real craftsmanship shine through.