Monday, May 18, 2009

The Unluckiest Mouse

The unluckiest mouse came into my life a few nights ago. I was up late playing Perfect World International, as I often do and out of the corner of my eye I saw a small dark shadow dart across the room.

Many of you know that I live in a condo complex, and on the third floor of this complex. Those of you who don't know, do now. I mention this because my first reaction to seeing a small flitting dark shadow was one of amazement and shock. "What the fuck?" was my reaction to this. How did a mouse get inside a concrete and brick building, and further; how in hell did it get into MY CONDO? I think that's a normal reaction.

So rather than panic, I turned on every available light and retrieved the flash light. I shined the light under the love seat, hoping and praying that it was, indeed, a mouse and not a rat.

Well my original assessment was correct, it was indeed a mouse. A cute little one. Personally I think this rodent was suicidal. It was attempting to perform the mouse version of "Suicide by Cop." Since I have two hunters that live in my house, I knew this particular infestation would last 3-4 hours at most. (I am currently owned by a wonderful old cat and a fearless squirrel, rabbit, chipmunk, and deer hunting Pharaoh Hound.

Well, as I shone the light upon this critter, it ran from under the sofa, behind the night stand, and under the bed. After that it had to have gone into the walk in closet. At that point I decided that it was pointless for me to chase the mouse so I woke up my tireless hunters saying loudly and commandingly "There's a mouse in here, go take care of it." I swear to you that my cat rolled her eyes at me. The dog stretched, got up and went into the living room to "his" chair and went back to sleep-obviously not realizing the gravity of the situation.

I decided to try and get some sleep, hoping that some hint of inspiration, some blind hunters luck would occur. After tossing and turning with visions of a mouse crawling into bed with me, I heard a thumping and a rustling from the closet. I got up and turned the light on, hoping that this ordeal was over. It wasn't. But to give credit where credit is due, the cat was in full hunt mode, not even registering the fact that I was there. "This is a good sign!" I thought.

I went back to bed only to hear more thumping and a little scuffle. Then I heard, from the foot of the bed, a painful mewing sound. It was the cat, and bathed in the blue glow from the television was a mouse, laying on it's back, not moving. The cat, proudly sitting over top of it. She batted it once, then twice. No movement, the mouse was still prostrate.

She batted the mouse a third time and it rolled over and ran for the security of the love seat area. The cat jumped into action, up and over the loveseat, into a small void in the corner. More thumping and scuffling sounds ensued. I laid back down but sleep wouldn't come. I heard another plaintive mew sound, and this time it was more of a "It's over" type of sound.

I glance to the floor at the foot of the bed and there is the cat, standing over top of The Unluckiest Mouse. Veni, Vedi, Vici. The Unluckiest Mouse had departed from the world of the living. The dog finally came and sniffed the mouse with feigned interest. I took a dustpan and tossed his lifeless body to the leafy ground and said my good bye to this honorable mouse, who in the end decided that seppuku was less honorable than the thrill of the chase.

And that, my friends, is the story of The Unluckiest Mouse.