Of mice and men

I saw a mouse the size of a peanut today in my garage. I threw a silent fit, because, little-known fact, apes cower in the presence of mice. I, in particular, am terrified of the little buggers.

A story to illuminate my point...

Ape #1 has a cat. This cat is quite amusing and often serves as our sentry. Every night, Momo jumps to the plant shelves, ambles to the front door and stands guard for about five minutes. He just stands there, looking at the door. We call it "securing the perimeter."

On a recent evening, I looked out the french doors of my office to see Momo guarding something small and furry. He was real eager to keep it away from us. I got a little closer, then realized I was looking at a dead mouse the size of a key. Like all good mothers, I locked myself in the office and called for my daughter to come retrieve the deceased mouse. She came to investigate, realized that "mouse" meant "mouse" and she proceeded to lock herself in my bedroom and jump on the bed. Just in case the dead mouse came to get her. Silly, I thought, as I sought refuge in my office. Momo wisened up and took his prize to a more secure location: the hallway. By now, Ape #2 decided there was enough fuss that he needed to get involved. Rather than rescue us from the carcass, he decided to scream incessantly.

The three of us gathered to concoct a plan to get the dead mini-mouse out of our house. Plan A: I call the father of Apes for assistance. Yes, he lives across town. But, hey, this was a crisis. No answer. I left a pitiful message. Plan B: Ape #1 calls the father of Apes. Again, no answer. Plan C: Ape #1 calls her friend who has a snake. Snakes eat mice. Therefore, she must be okay with touching dead mice, right? So, at 9:45 on a Saturday night we call up a 12 year-old girl to rescue us. I decide that plan is foolish, and I'm a grown human trained to save lives. I can get rid of a mouse corpse. I touch dead people all the time...well, frequently enough.

I grab a paper cup. I put on shoes and gloves. And, after fits of feet-stomping and squealing, I scooped that damn dead mouse up and ran him to the garage. All the while, Ape #1 is giving a blow-by-blow description of the events to her friend on the phone.

That's why I'm the cool mom.

Needless to say, I was less than thrilled to see a live, mini-mouse scurrying across my garage today.