Not a Creature Was Stirring...

January 10, 2011

We have a mouse in the house. Or maybe a whole mouse family, I don't know. OK I see the little smile on your face as you are picturing an old Tom and Jerry cartoon and the cute little gray mouse running amuck around the kitchen table with a smirk on his snerk while my cat Patty Cake gleefully chases it and almost (but not quite) catches it. Well slap that smile off your face. Mice are NOT cute. They are dirty rodents who leave their little mouse droppings behind the fridge and out-wit even my most fail-safe mouse traps.

January 18, 2011

I am decidedly a captive in my own house. Last week I set out 12 mouse traps around the house and in the garage. Every day I inspect them and they remain empty. My home used to be my sanctuary, the home that Mike and I built with love and have worked hard to keep—we've kept it relatively clean and artfully decorated (she said humbly). My house is a reflection of who I am. My place of Solace and Zen when I come home from a stressful day out in the cruel world. Or at least it was. We have been invaded. I am determined to evict the varmint(s) and I am not going down without a fight. This is our territory and just like the last episode of Little House, I'll blow this town to pieces before I let any mice keep permanent residence here.

January 27, 2011

Not my house but isn't this cute?

I admitted defeat and called Pest-Be-Gone. The fellow came out the next day and the fact that his name was Ben did not escape my attention. After a thorough inspection he declared that we don't have mice. (No no no, that would be too easy.) What we have is a big RAT he announced with a toothy grin. (did he say ONE? Oh please God let there be just one) My stomach turns at the thought. Evidently the rat has been living in the house for some time now. I'm going to puke.

Truth is I should have guessed. Last week I caught my cat staring at the crack between the stove and the refrigerator. Staring intensely and in her best Pouncing Position. She has no claws. How can she expect to catch a rat half her size? But stare and threaten to pounce she must. I think its in the cat handbook.

So Ben set out several packets of Extremely Lethal RAT poison in tucked-away places around the house and in the garage. He told us RATS are difficult to catch, then quickly looked at his watch, slithered out the door and bade us good luck. Um...bye Ben.

January 30, 2011

Still no dead RAT(s) (please GOD let there be just one) I checked the poison packets. All in place. I called Ben for the fifth time. No answer. I recollected how day before yesterday, Patty Cake assumed the Pouncing Stance next to the couch, staring underneath it. Last night she sat on the couch in my bedroom staring, unblinking, back behind it. That doesn't bode well. Did Ben leave me his cell number? No.

With new determination, I schlepped to Lowes and bought 6 RAT traps. The most expensive ones. Humungous things that sharply snap with enough authority to kill a small child. YES! I set them out in the house and garage, wondering who the patron saint of Rodent Killers is and if Protestants are allowed to pray to saints.... I am officially in panic-mode.

Jan 31, 2011

I pulled out the refrigerator this evening to inspect the packet o poison behind it. (It's on wheels, it's not that heavy) As I did so THE RAT RAN OUT FROM UNDER THE FRIDGE, SKITTERED ACROSS MY TOES AND RAN UNDER THE COUCH. I screamed bloody murder, jumping up and down. It was HUGE and it was HORRIBLE. Mike came running into the kitchen with the stun gun. I don't know if it was for me or the rat. He quickly assessed the situation and said he would call our son, Shane and together they would get rid of that rat for good. I grabbed my purse and marched out the door, vowing not to return until the R.A.T. was D.E.A.D. Driving away (perhaps forever) I thought nostalgically that we've had 12 years in this house. It's been a good run, good times and great memories but every party has to end.

Is it legal to buy dynamite?

Patty Cake....skulking

Two hours later I called my husband needing a status update. It turns out that Project DEAD RAT was a Fail. He said he and Shane tore the living room apart to get it out from under the sectional. Patty Cake was standing by in anticipation and when the RAT finally did emerge in panic from under the couch, she was on the job. She chased it down the hall and into the laundry room. Mike and Shane were on those critter's tails and quickly slammed the laundry room door shut, trapping the RAT inside.

Now here my Fool-proof Plan; shove a towel under the door to the laundry room and never ever go in there again. That room is now dead to me.

February 5, 2011

It's been five days since "Operation RAT in the Laundry Room". The door remains firmly shut. I considered putting yellow police tape over it in case anyone forgets The Plan. Our dirty clothes are beginning to smell. This morning I suggested we toss them into the trash and buy new clothes. Mike thought that was funny. I am dead serious. He then told me not to be such a wimp and go into the Laundry Room. He said surely the RAT is dead by now.

No one calls me a Wimp so with pride intact I mustered my courage, cracked open the door and peered inside. I had little hope at this point and assumed the RAT had chewed a hole in the dryer vent and escaped to the roof. But NO. THERE HE WAS D.E.A.D on top of the dryer. Victory at Last! O Happy Day! Hallelujah Jesus! I screamed...er I mean politely called for Mike and he took care of the disposal of the Deceased Body like any good husband would...after snapping a photo with my iphone so I could post it on Facebook.

Adios  D.E.A.D.  R.A.T.

Thank you Jesus. Kudos to Mike. Props to my son Shane. A tiny sliver of thanks to Ben (who turned out to be a disappointment for the most part and quit taking my calls after the third day). But most of all, loads of thanks to Patty Cake for waking up and moving her lazy butt off the sofa long enough to do what a cat is supposed to do!

Judy! Shake Me Up!

BBC Mini Series of Bleak House

Last week I watched the BBC miniseries Bleak House, written by Charles Dickens. And I am still smiling over the scroogey and dilapidated character of Mr. Smallweed.  He is obstinate and full of bossery vileness. My mom would say he's full of spit and vinegar but he's way worse than that and full of a lot more than spit and vinegar. And to top that off, he's crippled and lives completely reliant upon the generosity of others to move him from one place to another.  Have I described him well enough? Here's more. He's grumpy and cranky and ugly and horrifically hygiene deficient. He is carried from here to there in an old wooden chair held up by more ugly holding long handles that secure the chair to prevent any spillage. (Just think Arc of the Covenant.) This man embodies the definition of a curmudgeon. Don't you love that word? I do. And so you see that Mr. Smallweed is just a horrible horrible curmudgeon of a man. And I love him! He is assisted in his loan sharking business by his granddaughter, Judy.  "Judy! Shake me up!!" he yells to her every time he's thrown a fit over pretty much nothing. She dutifully grabs him under the arms and literally yanks him up and shakes him until you hear some bones crackling. I don't know why, but it's just funny. And it keeps getting funnier. Today, with a full day to vedge out, I watched the whole thing all over again with my daughter, Carissa. Soon enough Mr. Smallweed is introduced into the story. I'm all set to laugh again. I sneek a smiling glance over and see that my daughter is not smiling at all. Don't you hate that?

Mr. Smallweed and his dutiful granddaughter, Judy

As this character further develops I realize she is now fast-forwarding through the meat of Mr. Smallweed's scenes. "He's so horrible", she tells me. YES, I thought. That is exactly what he is. Don't you just LOVE him? But no, she don't. She's a much kinder soul than I and I'm thinking his orneriness was nothing short of rude and irritating (which is true) and I wondered why it was just me who thought this crust of a man was so darn funny? And as my researcher mind got the better of me I started googling him, trying to find out what in the world ailed this old crank that required him to be 'shaken' up every so often. Sadly, I never did find a sufficient answer, but I did happen across this wonderfully refreshing blog called, Code Yellow Mom. Turns out she's seen that mini series too. Back in 2006. And she loves Mr. Smallweed! It was great! I laughed out loud, threw my head back, raised my hands into fists and yelled, "COMRADE!"

So I share her blog with you here in the hopes that it might shake you up at least a little. I think being shaken up now and again may not really be such a bad thing.  Code Yellow Mom doesn't think so either. Comrades must stick together. (BTW, Carissa loved the series, despite Mr. Smallweed and his gnarly and wretched behaviors.)

 ~Susan

http://codeyellowmom.blogspot.com/2006/04/shake-me-up-judy.html