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!