I don't mean to alarm you, but it is 11:30 Friday evening, Ben is out of town, and there is definitely a mouse in my bathroom and I don't know what to do. I was just sitting on the floor in the living room, ripping up junk mail (the poor man's shredder), when I heard a fracas in the hallway and found Mamie crouched over what was most assuredly a brown mouse on the bathmat. At the time, the mouse appeared prone. After stepping away for a few moments to freak out about the prospect of having to remove a dead mouse from my bathroom, I returned to find that the mouse was no longer there, and that Mamie had wadded up the bathmat into a big blue ball.
This is most disconcerting because it can mean only one of three things:
1. The mouse escaped and is now limping angrily around my house, waiting to wreak its horrible vengeance upon me while I sleep by pooping in my mouth.
2. The mouse is, in fact, dead, and is wadded up in the bathmat.
3. Even worse, the mouse is only wounded and wadded up in the bathmat, meaning I will somehow have to find a way to remove a wounded mouse from my bathroom.
Worse yet, this is my only bathroom, meaning if I intend to pee or shower at all over the next 48 hours, I am going to have to face this situation sooner or later. Probably sooner, as I just chugged down an entire Coke Zero in an effort to calm my nerves.
More news as events warrant.
UPDATE (12:01 a.m.): There is definitely a dead mouse rolled up in the bathmat. It is now up to me to remove said bathmat from the bathroom without freaking out to the max. Also, just as I typed that last sentence, a big, fat, horrible-looking Super Ant of some kind crawled across my writing desk. Face it: My house is being overrun by wildlife, and I will be dead by morning. Don't cry for me. It is what nature intended.
UPDATE (12:07 a.m.): I have successfully removed the dead mouse from the bathroom, using a complicated plan which involved scooping the entire bathmat into a garbage bag, taking said bag behind the garage, shaking it out vigorously so the dead mouse would fly off into the dark and I would never see it again, and bringing the (mysteriously unsoiled) bathmat back into the basement to be washed. I feel strangely empowered with my new dead animal removal skills.
4 pipers piping:
This is my favorite entry ever. Congratulations on your dead mouse removing skillz.
Kim,
This entry makes me miss you terribly, more desirious than ever of reading your blockbuster prose, and tempted to buy a two thousand dollar ticket to your wedding to sit next to your cousin the anesthesiologist.
love
e
PS: when's the wedding again??
I am glad you're okay! I'm seeing this like that scene in Black Sheep when Chris Farley and David Spade are attacked by woodland creatures in a cabin in the woods.
Also, glad the bathmat is okay. I'd have hated for Ben to be angry that you hadn't had the guts to salvage the bathmat.
Oooh, I bow down to your bravery, Ms. Shable. Chicken that I am, I would have chucked the bathmat pronto. Just the thought of the dead mouse having been rolled away in it makes me squeamish. You brave soul!
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