Exit Stage Left

We never lived in any really big cities when I was growing up and for a few years in elementary school we lived six miles outside of Leadville, CO (itself a small town) on a couple of acres, across the highway from a small lake in a house where the view from our living room was of Mt. Elbert, the tallest mountain in Colorado. Mom never wanted to put up blinds or curtains because the view was too beautiful to cover up. The propane tank was in the backyard. It provided the energy for us to fuel our house, but for my brother and I it also offered an exam table of a certain sort. We'd climb up on the tank and conduct experiments of many different sorts, including, one time, the "dissection" of a dead mouse we found on the property, which had no doubt been caught by our "ferocious" orange tabby cat, Tiger. I tell this story in an attempt to prove that I'm not a girly girl. I considered myself a tomboy for much of my life, though I've softened a bit in my old age. I'm not squeamish, nor am I particularly bothered by most things others might find disturbing.

I got home pretty late tonight after some more shopping and came into the dark, cold house while on the phone with my mom. I dropped my bags and flipped on the light to see Linus crouched in the middle of the floor with something flopping on the floor near his mouth. I was distracted by Mom telling me about her Christmas shopping and then I realized what was going on and interrupted her with a quick, "oh my god. Oh My God. OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!" in a steep crescendo when I realized that it was a mouse. Yes, folks, my skittish, yet inquisitive and playful cat had caught himself a mouse...in my house! When I first saw it the mouse was still alive and squirming on the floor. I was completely freaked out by the whole thing and didn't know what to do. I just kept screeching into the phone as Linus was still trying to play with the mouse. It was quite clear that the mouse was not going to make it. What do you do with a dead mouse? I finallly--with Mom's help-- got my wits about me and got the dead rodent (complete with Linus's teeth marks in its belly) into a plastic bag where it squealed every so quietly and then was silent. Then I walked it outside and threw it away.

I am shaking just writing this post as this was one of the most unpleasant things I've ever experienced. I'm worried that there are more mice and I don't know how to keep them from getting in. This house was built in 1908, it's old and decrepit and a quick search on Google tells me that an ordinary house mouse can fit through a hole that a pencil will fit in! There are holes all over this house, and I don't even know where they lead. I'm sure that poor little mouse just got cold tonight, as the temperature drops and the snow moves in. I bet he couldn't ever have imagined that the cat who's afraid of the phone ringing would ever be the cause of his demise.

R.I.P. little brown mouse. Way to go, Linus.