Okay… I’m willing to admit that my conclusion that it was just ONE mouse that had set up shop on the premises at Casa Kahunah was maybe a tad optimistic. As I sat down to the computer the other night to pound out a few more pages of my latest screenplay, I was quite startled as a second mouse jumped out from the couch cushions and took off across the living room floor.
Needless to say, I immediately checked my hard drive to see if he had been downloading any mouse porn.
The short lived peace it seemed, was over. I had once again underestimated my enemy, but would not do so again. The score was once again even: Man1, Mouse1. I put the remaining trap I had into position once more… baited yet again with that most magic of foods, peanut butter cups.
As darkness feel, I retreated to base camp Beta (my bedroom) and watched some Pinky and the Brain cartoons for inspiration. I was just dozing off when I heard the trap in the kitchen go off.
“HA HA!” I yelled from the ramparts of my mattress, “Man 2, Mouse 1! Take that, you foul beast!” As I stooped to pick up the trap, I looked at the little plastic indicator and noticed that it was in a different place this time. Could it be that the mouse had somehow set off the first one to lull me into a false sense of security? Or was it just a smaller mouse the first time? Did this mean there were more? Were the mice better organized than I had previously assumed?
I pondered this as I tossed the trap into the trash outside. I went to sleep, fitfully dreaming of the Brain and Pinky leading these field mice in an attempt to breach the levees of New Orleans (again) in the aftermath of hurricane Narf.
I awoke Sunday morning in a pensive mood. The house was quiet… a little too quiet. I cautiously took out the trash, (emptying the kitchen can and the waste basket in the living room as I try to do every Sunday), and made myself breakfast. As I settled in for a morning of shows I had taped throughout the week, I heard a rustling. From the living room trash can I had just emptied, no less! I slowly leaned over and looked into the basket, and saw a mouse struggling to climb the sheer, blue plastic walls. To be honest, I don’t know who was more scared.
We have met the enemy, and we have the common ground of being chickens.
As I looked down into what the mouse must have considered his pit of doom, I felt sorry for the little guy. It had to really suck to be him. In short, despite generations of conquerors in my Italian DNA, I couldn’t bring myself to put it out of it’s misery. After all, I’m a lover… not a killer.
I put a board over the wastebasket, and walked out to the very back of my back yard, and let the mouse go. It promptly ran across the yard and into the open back door of my house.
The stream of obscenities I yelled at that point is best not recounted here.
Man 2, Mouse 2. It isn't over.