|Doug and Blue Bear|
Last night while sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, and watching a GIGANTIC house fly walk across actors' faces, I realize I had been hearing strange little thumps and scuffles from the general area of the kitchen. Glancing over, I verify that Doug is still snuggled in a pillow nest snoring. Laying on top of him, spread out like an exhausted trash panda is Doug's new best buddy- Blue Bear. Hm.
So what the heck is that noise? Shit. Now I have to find out what the heck is happening in the kitchen. I reluctantly haul my fat ass up off of the couch and trudge to the kitchen followed by my one eyed dummy and his now awake pal, Bear. Snapping on the light I see my super fat cat, Bacon (not to be confused with his much skinnier and smarter brother, Eggs) scuttle under the table using some relatively weird and suspicious movements.
"What the hell is this idiot doing?" I wonder. He's truly not the brightest bulb on Charlie Brown's tree so God only knows what he is up to. I am not lying when I tell you I have actually caught him licking the wall.
In short order I determine he has the world's smallest mouse in his mouth- a realization that is assisted by said mouse dashing across my bare foot only to somehow land back in Bacon's mouth. This mouse was so small that when it ran across my foot it honestly felt as if maybe a beetle had every so briefly touched down and then flew away. I have no fear of mice or most other critters, so my reaction is to dive at the cat hoping to pry the mouse loose. Naturally Bacon is having none of that and thus the fun began.
Doug is hopping around the kitchen like that dumbass cartoon character in Bugs Bunny that says, "Which way did he go? Which way did he go?" Bear is chasing Doug trying to tackle him- because that is what Bear does. And by this point I am now following Bacon around trying to reason with him:
I am crooning to my cat, "You are suuuch a good boy Bacon-burger. It's a nice little mouse. What a good kitty. Good job Bacon. Let me see the nice mousey." Hunched over like Quasimodo, crooning and shuffling I follow my fat retarded cat while a one eyed dog and his ferocious kitten dash around the kitchen. Yeah, everything is normal here.
|The Mighty Hunter|
Four of us are now in a mad dash for a 1 oz slightly twitching mouse. I trip over the chair. Or maybe Bacon. I'm honestly unsure which as the next thing I see are stars from smacking my head on the side of the kitchen table. My body is on autopilot and I snatch up the mouse as I go down. The table top, the one I had recently refinished and not reattached properly, flips off its stand and crashes onto the chairs. A screwdriver, scraper, some paint brushes and whatever the hell else I had left on the table are flying through the air. I swear to God everything went slo-mo and some serious background music kicked up.
SPLAT! I am sprawled across the kitchen floor, my head ringing (appropriately) like Quasimodo's bell. Bacon is somewhere in the kitchen, Bear may be dead under the table top for all I know, and Doug- oh sweet dumb Doug- has just managed to snatch the twitching almost-corpse from my hand. There is a microsecond of silence as all objects settle and a hasty personal injury assessment occurs.
And the race is back on. Bear has reappeared. Bacon is lumbering up my legs in search of his catch. And Doug is standing, astonished, trying to process the fact that not only did he manage to get the mouse, it is now on his tongue twitching one tiny little leg. I have no idea if that poor little mouse was alive at this point. I sure hope not. I hope those were just muscle twitches, because as I shout, "DOUG!!" the mini-mouse tumbles from Doug's mouth to fall 100 mousy feet. It almost hits the floor before, Bacon, like an international soccer star smacks the little cheese eater across the kitchen and under the baker's rack. Now Bear shows his budding skills in cat witchery by dashing out from under the rack with what I assume is Micky the Battered Mouse and takes off like a streak of black lightning.
If you have ever had kittens in your house, you know as well as I that kittens are among the scariest creatures on this planet. Beneath those big eyes and soft soft fur, lies the soul of a full fledged serial killer. They have no fear and will throw their bodies willy nilly toward whatever their target is even if it means swinging from the curtain to parkour off the nearest bit of furniture and land on all four feet, prize in mouth, with ears cocked and tail snapping back and forth. They have super sharp micro blades on every toe and no problem with using them. They will growl and spit and slash if you even think of taking their toy or food.
I am now nose to nose on my hands and knees with the world's tiniest ball of death and it has a perfectly sized prize in its mouth. That. Belongs. To. Him. Another micro-second of frozen time and suddenly there is Doug rearing up in full I'm-gonna-punch-you-with-both-front-legs action. Fuuuck! He will squish the ever loving shit right out of that kitten! Another panicked, "DOUG! NO!" and Blue Bear is off and running. I have no idea where the hell Bacon is at this point and really don't care. What began as a rescue mission is now simply body retrieval so that it doesn't wind up in some obscure corner of my house, rotting slowly.
Now we have all managed to tumble, stumble, and scramble into the first section of my living room where Blue Bear has dropped the mouse and is crouched over it like a starving lion with his first kill. I am brave. I dive in and pushing the tiny ball of death to one side, snatch up the mouse, and dash for the front door. I have to be fast because both Doug and Blue Bear are champion runners. I dash out the door slamming it shut behind me. Whew.
Holding it by its tail, I see that it is so very dead. Ok. Body disposal time. Yeaaahhhh.... I fling that little sucker out the front door with some real authority. Where it bounces off my step daughter Amanda's brand new car and lands on the sidewalk. End of story. I take a moment to breath the fresh air and savor the sweet silence of a late summer night.
Maybe tomorrow I will detail the clean up. I am so over mice.