I sat by lamplight, dutifully bill paying at the kitchen counter. It was Friday night, in the dead of winter. Jon gone on a business trip, wouldn’t get home ‘til midnight. The kids watching “Robots” in the rec. room, scarfing popcorn.

Unconventional Mousetrap by allie taylor

Scritch scritch.

I froze.

Scratch.

Silence.

Tch tch.

Noiselessly, I gingerly tiptoed to the dining room, peering into the darkness.

Nothing. All was eerily quiet. My imagination? Back to the counter.

The electric bill. I entered several more bank drafts. Ka-ching. Ka-ching.

“Poorer by the second.” Sigh. I sipped my lukewarm tea.

There it was!!!

Crinch. Silence.

Cranch. Scurry, then rustle rustle.

Tch tch.

On cat’s feet, I crept towards the dining room, flicking the light switch on hard and fast. Movement in the corner.

A tiny pink tail was disappearing under the antique trunk. Oh. No. A mouse in the house. But not a man. This called for fast action.

Racing into the kitchen, I grabbed a large mixing bowl, summoned a teenager for reinforcements. The seven year old arrived in a flash.

“Mommy, mommy…what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” I answered shortly, concealing the bowl behind my back.

“Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed please.”

Thankfully, he did. That’s ALL we needed: an excitable little kid up past his bedtime, scaring off the prey.

Jonathan and I rolled the trunk aside. No mouse. We shifted the buffet. No mouse. I planned to trap it under the bowl, a makeshift Gitmo. But somehow it escaped while I rallied forces. I spied a small opening around the hot water pipe near the register in the corner.

“The mouse must’ve escaped down the hole, like Alice,” I thought. “Good. End of story.”

I headed to bed a little later, falling asleep hard. But not long. In the wee hours I was jarred from pleasant dreams.

“Mommy, mommy! Daddy’s chasing a mouse!”

(Throat clear.) “So go help him.” He raced downstairs.

I turned over lazily, yanked covers over my head, yawned. Hummed a little tune…..”The mouse came back, the very next day….”

But sleep was elusive. Yelling, muttering, running feet, crashing, banging drifted up through the floorboards. I wedged a pillow over my head.

BANG! FWAM! And an especially loud final WHAP! Light footsteps raced up the stairs. I sat straight up in the bed as the door flew open. The messenger was back.

“Mommy, mommy! Daddy killed the mouse. We chased it all over the living room and the kitchen too. We cornered it in the game closet. Now it’s squished! And dead. And it’s so disgusting and gross.”

A wave of relief washed over me from head to toe. Exhale. The mouse, was dead. And I’d had no part in the execution. I settled deeper into the pillows. He crawled up in his spiderman pj’s, snuggled in, worn out from the hunt. I stroked his soft curls, looked deep in his baby blues.

“So how’d Daddy kill the mouse, honey?”

“You know the wooden clogs he gave you for Christmas last year? The suede ones? ”

Some questions are better left unasked. (And unanswered.)

Update: I’m loving these mouse stories you’re sharing. Please share yours!

More entertainment for your snow day:

Nuts About Her

Entrepreneur of Sorts

She Picked Up Her Pen

Misery Loves Company

Another World

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