Uninvited

Pin It Now! Warning: Mee Maw, you probably shouldn't read any further. What follows will doubtless give you the heebie-jeebies.

Jarred is in Washington, D.C. this week to train for his new job. Oh, I didn't tell you about his new job? Well, he works for a congressman now. Fortunately, he gets to work from the district office in Colorado Springs. Except for this week, of course, when he's training in D.C.

Because he's out-of-state, we have been talking on the phone quite a bit. Such was the case when I got home from work last night and began to prepare my dinner. Read: Place some fish sticks and sweet potato fries in the toaster oven. About the time I had pulled the sweet potato fries out of the freezer and started putting them on the baking tray, something awful happened. Out of my periphery I saw a flash of black. And then I felt something traipse over my foot. And just like that, it was gone.

At this juncture, I calmly explained to my fiance that something foreign had invaded my personal bubble and would he be so kind as to halt his story for just a moment.

NOT.

In reality I went into a fit of hysteria and proceeded with an all-out meltdown. Jarred's eardrums, I'm sure, will never be the same. To his credit, he very politely asked me to calm down and stand on a chair. Because that's what one does when unknown and possibly rabid vermin are discovered in one's present environment. In fact, I was already perched on a sturdy wooden chair of the kitchen variety.

It is at this point during the stages of grief, that one considers denial an effective coping mechanism. Thus, I began to rationalize that perhaps there had been some trick of the light or some other such oddity that caused me to imagine that a living organism had actually run pell-mell across my kitchen floor and had taken up residence behind my refrigerator. However, in the moments that followed when I watched the little bugger escape from the other side of the fridge, run down a small wall and hasten behind the couch, there could be little doubt that my home had been invaded.

Consequently, I feel the need to assure you that my roommates and I are very hygienic people who have the unfortunate plight of living in a very poorly sealed and far worse insulated home. It might also interest you to know that we have experienced temperatures far, far below freezing recently. I am, thereby, forced to conclude that there is a singular mouse in my home who was seeking respite from the bitterly cold Colorado night and through a combination of factors, none of which are related to cleanliness of our home, was able to squirm his way into our borders uninvited.

Once I was able to get some perspective on the matter, I grabbed my purse, scootched my chair ever so carefully over to the stairway, vacated it with a leap that Carl Lewis would've been proud of, and scampered out the door to the garage. I then drove to the store and commenced with the purchase of every mouse trap they carried. Twelve in all. Twelve. After arriving back home, I seriously considered that a night spent in the garage might be character-building and not so bad.

Instead of enduring a night that would have surely resulted in hypothermia, I decided to take back what is rightfully mine. I may have said "This is my house. I have to defend it." (Seven-thousand bonus points to the reader who can name that movie). I carefully placed peanut butter in each reservoir of each trap. Then I placed them in calculated spots throughout the home.

After making my way upstairs, I slammed my door shut, rolled up a towel and placed it under the door, and spent the rest of the night in and out of sleep with nightmares of flesh-eating animals. Restful.

This morning I woke up to each and every trap in the exact same state I left it in last night. And so the saga, along with my nightmares, continues...