What could be better than being woken up at 4:47 in the morning by my big, orange tabby cat you may ask? Being woken up by my big, orange tabby cat chasing a mouse around my bedroom, that's what!
So, I am sleeping away all snuggly in bed and I awake to the pitter patter of little cat feet scampering around the bedroom. This is closely followed by a high pitched "chirp! chirp! squeaakk!". What was that? Am I dreaming? Nope, I'm awake. Is that what I think it is? Oh shit it is! My initial worry is that Wilson will jump in to bed with the mouse, drop it on my head, and be all: "
hey-look-what-I-found-for-you-aren't-you-proud-huh-aren't-you?!?"
I decide a mouse on the head at 4:47 a.m. is not how I want to start off my Monday. So. I jump out of bed, flip on the light, jump back to the safety on top of the bed, and look around the room trying to assess the situation. (Where is Josh when I need him?!?) I decide the best thing to do is to run to the kitchen and grab a plastic container because I am going to catch the mouse. Me. At 4:47 in the morning. Me, whose reflexes are not that great when I am fully awake, let alone when I am half asleep.
Sidenote: I find mice cute & furry and am usually not that afraid of them. I have caught many mice over the years (but, not at 4:47 a.m. and most always with help). I am a firm believer in catch & release of cute, little mice. In fact, I even kept one of the many mice that I have caught as a pet because he was a baby & cute & while that goes against the "release" part, he could not be left to his own devices in the big scary world because he might, you know, get eaten by a bird or something. Did I mention how cute he was?Anyways, I proceed to chase the cat & the mouse around the house in an elaborate game of, well, cat and mouse (oh, come on, you knew it had to be said sometime, somewhere during the post!). I can't catch him. Wilson chases the mouse back into the bedroom & the mouse runs under the closet door. Great. I lock the cats out of the bedroom. Again, I'm usually not that afraid of mice. But, this mouse? This mouse is going to jump & attack - most likely at my eyes. I am sure of this because this is the kind of logic that I have at 4:47 a.m. I slowly open the closet doors. Of course. No sign of the mouse. There are several boxes & what not on the floor of the closet so I proceed to pull everything out of the closet. Still no sign of the mouse. Great. What do I do now? I decide he'll come out when he's ready. Mice are fast & tricky & he must have scurried past me & headed back to the basement where he belongs (ok, really? He belongs outside, but the basement is way better than
my bedroom and at this point it is early in the morning & I am not up to any more of this game, so I may have deluded myself. Just a
little bit.)
Fastforward an hour.
I hear the sound of Wilson trying to paw open the closet door. And then, the sound of cat feet scampering around the room and "chirp! chirp! squeaakk!" again. Oh shit (again)! I'm out of bed in a flash with my trusty plastic container at the ready. But, I neither see nor hear signs of Wilson & the mouse. I creep through the house & finally track him down in one of the other bedrooms. It's like an old western show down. The mouse in the middle of the room, Wilson staring down the mouse, me staring down Wilson & the mouse with the plastic container in one hand & the lid in the other. I make my move, but of course the mouse & Wilson are faster than me. They run around the room. I shriek. And then there is Wilson standing in front of me with the mouse in his mouth. I shout & plunge & try to get him to drop the mouse into my plastic container. Oh if only he could understand me, "Wilson drop the mouse in here! Drop him! In HERE!!" He does not drop the mouse into the container, but he does drop the mouse onto the floor. And the mouse sits there frozen. And due to much luck on my part, I react quick enough & finally catch the mouse.
Finally.
Now. Here is the thing. I cannot kill the mouse. Nope, it's not going to happen. (Someone at work actually suggested that I flush the mouse
down the toilet. Seriously? No. Just. No.) My soft spot for mice will not allow it (I refer you to the sidenote above). So, I took the mouse in the container (don't worry, there were air holes) and put him in the garage while I got ready for work. When I left I released one very shook up, but seemingly healthy mouse into the field next to our house.
Phew!
