Rugrats and Dirty Rugs

I was hoping I would be able to spare everyone yet another story from "There's a Mouse in the House" saga, alas, no can do. I must share another one. You would think by now that I am very used to seeing mice running around my house. I've lost count how many mice I've seen and how many the cat has caught. Yet, I still scream when I see one. A woman with stronger constitution would be able to grab a fleeing mouse by the tail without losing her sense by now, but not me. I'm not the strong, fearless type. Granted, I may look a little fearsome in my ratty pajamas, ponytail, and no makeup, but I still consider myself the little woman in the house and I don't really care if I run screaming from a little mouse who is more scared of me than I am of it. I keep telling myself that they are just mice, but it's hard to convince myself while still shivering and standing on top of the furniture. Case in point. The day before, I was holding the baby on my lap watching...

There's a Mouse in the House saga continues...... I was prepping my bedroom for painting when Happy came screaming up the stairs. It was nothing new to hear him screaming about something. When he finally reached my door, he had tears in his eyes and he was scared to death. Due to his tears and his heart beating out of his chest, it was hard to distinguish real words from the blubbering. Despite that, I was able to make out something like "the mouse was on the blanket". I was confused because I remember leaving the blanket on the couch. I really did NOT want to think that a mouse would be bold enough to come up onto my throne, but, apparently, my son had taken the blanket and cuddled with it on the floor in front of the TV. "You saw the mouse on the blanket?" I squealed. I was horrified for him. I told his brothers to put the blanket back on the couch and put the cat in the family room. I asked if they saw the mouse and was given blank stares and, "Uh...no...

I know it seems like all I do is sit on my keaster and watch TV, but sometimes things happen after my day is done and I've collapsed on the couch before heading to bed. So, here begins another story just that way. I was on the couch watching TV when I saw another one of those daggone, arrogant mice sprint toward the TV. They come out of the woodwork hoping to catch a little tidbit left behind by our little Happy. Now, we've threatened Happy with his life if he ever brings food down to the family room. It's a rule. It should be followed, but Happy was born to break the rules. Thus, a piece of toast was left behind and placed near the TV just for the little mice. Shoot. They might as well be our pets, for Pete's sake. Seeing a foreign animal sneaking around in my home is bound to make me scream and that's exactly what happened. "Grumpy! Get the cat and put her in here right now!" I yell after a screaming fit. Grumpy plops the cat far away from the vicinity o...

There's a Mouse in the House saga continues.... Last Sunday morning, Doc goes into the bathroom to take his morning shower. He pulls the shower curtain aside and finds a mouse in our tub. If it had been me, the house would have been awakened by my horrified screams. Since Doc had more presence of mind, he simply took a napkin and bent down to grab it and put it in the trash. Problem was the mouse wasn't dead. As the mouse skittered to the end of the tub, Doc quickly straightened up and went for the cat. Now, the cat has made it clearly known in the past that she does not like being picked up. I was briefly awakened by our cat fiercely meowing, but when she stopped I went back to sleep. Doc had picked her up and her meowing stopped as soon as he plopped her in the tub. "Here you go, kitty," said Doc. "Here's a snack for ya." She was confused about why he had stuck her there when she noticed the mouse at the other end. Both paws went up in the air and she ...

I take back every last mean thing I ever said about our kitty being a lousy mouser . Yesterday, I was chatting on the phone with my dad when Grumpy came up to me and announced that there was a dead mouse in his room. Still on the phone and with much trepidation, I followed him up the stairs. He points to a spot on the floor and I stop a considerable distance from the small gray-brown furry object. I said, "Are you sure it's a mouse? It doesn't look big enough." He said, "Yes, I saw its eyes." I drag myself closer to it to see better and make sure it's a mouse. "Eeeeuuu! It's just the head!" Chills start coursing through my veins and I immediately leave the room. There was only one conclusion that I came to. The cat had finally done her duty. I say good-bye to my dad who had been on the phone this entire time and call Doc....because that's what I do when there is a crisis. I tell him what happened and then he asked if I threw it away. ...

By the end of our school day, we all ended up standing on the same chair screaming at the top of our lungs. Let me clarify what happened. When the boys are finished with their schoolwork, I time them for 15 minutes and they clean up the basement where we have schooltime. The floor is often covered with old school papers, dropped pencils, toys, books, etc. and needs a hefty cleaning now and again. I had decided to put a big pile together in the middle of the floor by sweeping everything together with the broom. I then told Grumpy to put the stuff away and everyone else had their own chore to do. After some time, the pile began to decrease in size. I am in the middle of writing an email when all of a sudden, Grumpy yells, "I found the mouse!" I look up in confusion and say, "Whaa?" thinking it was a stuffed animal he had found since he goes ga-ga for them anyway. No sirree. It was a real mouse. He yells again, "It's the mouse! It's the mouse!" After ...

One day, Doc came up to me and announced that we have a mouse in the house. I looked at him askance because there is nothing more than having a mouse in the house to make it all of a sudden feel.....unclean despite my efforts. Since then, I have found mouse poop in the laundry room, Bashful's closet, and the basement. Aargh! Doc then suggested that we get a good mouser. There is no definite way of making sure that a cat will be a good mouser until the deed is done, so I sneered at myself as I said, "Okay, fine. We'll go look at cats, but it better be a nice cat." I must be insane. We now have a cat. She is four years old and the most demanding little priss I've ever met. We must be cat people. Sitting at dinner one night, we saw her trot over to her litter box around the corner. I said, "Look! There she is! Isn't that such a good kitty?" As we heard her scratching at her litter to cover up her mess, we said, "Cats are awesome, man! You bring the...