Monday night, December 14. A creature was stirring. Even Steven's a louse.
Somewhere in my senility or dotage, I must have done something not-good. WHY would Even Steven bestow upon me a new horror in my dark basement lair?
Actually, I was in the NASCAR bathroom right next to my dark basement lair. I had just done my business. I stood in my Doc Ortho black socks (I take my shoes off in the bathroom. Kind of like George Costanza taking off his shirt. Not to feel free, but to lessen the two inches the soles add in bending my knees more sharply when I sit and stand), turning to hit the flush handle.
Something ran along the floorboard trim! Scurried! Something tiny! Brown! Furry!
Sweet Gummi Mary! It was hiding behind the wastebasket.
I moved the wastebasket, and that furry scurrier darted to the corner.
"NO! YOU STUPID MOUSE! GIT!"
Furry Scurrier darted behind the toilet. Came out the other side, by the plunger and brush. Turned and went back to the corner. Back behind the wastebasket. Back to the corner under the built-in wooden counter with the airbrushed NASCARs on top. Sat there.
Well. What was I supposed to do? It was 2:00 a.m. Those sugarplum dreamers were not going to dash to my rescue. I left him there. Surely you didn't think I'd put on my New Balance and stomp him. Surely you didn't think I could catch him. That's what men are for.
It was tiny. Less than two inches, I'd say. I didn't even notice a tail. WHAT IF IT'S NOT A MOUSE? Maybe it's a baby mole! Come to think of it, I didn't see the big ears of the field mice that have been the previous invaders at the cold snap. And it wasn't the mousy gray color. It was dark brown.
I told Farmer H at 7:00 a.m. that we had a mouse. And that I couldn't set the snap-traps, because I'd set them off by the time I got bent over to put them on the floor. He said I could get traps when I went to town.
What in the NOT-HEAVEN? That's a MAN'S JOB! The nerve of him, thinking I would buy my own mousetraps!
"They have them at the grocery store."
"I've never seen mousetraps in the grocery store."
"Well. The Dollar Store would have them."
"What are YOU doing? Why don't YOU get them. I'M not going to buy mousetraps."
Farmer H agreed to pick some up while HE was in town.
More tomorrow, as the situation develops.