This is how I really woke up this morning. "This" is a house mouse, although the one in my bedroom was more gray than brown. Yes, a mouse in my bedroom.
During the later hours of the early morning, in the half-sleep/half-awake state between snoozes, I heard a scritching noise near the foot of my bed. Sitting bolt-upright in my bed, fumbling with the bedside lamp, and trying to find my glasses, I felt that unmistakable surge of adrenaline course through my core. After I pulled myself together, I saw a mouse climbing Mt. Jansport, the backpack on wheels that we store in our room. In a panic, I notified John—my absolutely mostest hero, in the whole world—that there was a mouse in our room. And, to my rescue, he grabbed a sticky pad from an earlier episode, trapped the mouse, and whisked it out of our room.
My husband is so handsome, strong, funny, smart—and very brave! He caught a mouse with his hands because he loves me. As a result, I may give him a huge pass on his clutter (such as the piles of magazines on the floor or the Jansport), which he had weeks ago offered to move to another part of the house, but hadn't yet. Just think: our clutter served as an early warning system. Without it, the mouse may have invaded our room with more stealth.
Despite the adrenaline rush, I feel like I handled this mouse better than the last few, although, admittedly, I haven't spent a night in our room since Monday night. I am scarred—and obsessed with these questions: where are the mice coming from? Why are they coming into my bedroom? Where are they going when they come into my bedroom? How can I stop them from coming into my room? Where can I get more of these sticky pads, which are better for catching mice by hand? When will I stop wiggin' out at the slightest noise?
Just one more question. When does mouse season end????
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