I’m sitting in the woodshed, on an orange beach chair, in front of a huge stack of firewood. I take a sip of my elixir and, whoosh, there it is again. That black spot whipping across the floor and disappearing outside.
However, the puzzle was solved a few days later because this time Sue and Buster were sitting nearby and they saw the streaker too. Sue said it was only a wee mouse.
And so, the very next day, I removed all the wood and other stuff that leaned against the wall and which had given the mouse a place to hide before he made his run for the outdoors. This offered me a clear view of his launch pad.
However, let me tell you, after what happened a few nights ago I was zipping off to the hardware store to buy more traps.
“You okay?” I’d asked.
“I think a mouse ran across my hand.”
Oh god! A mouse in the bed. Now that’s a real emergency.
“Be brave, Larry. Keep calm, Larry.” That’s what I said to myself.
I then grabbed one of our hundreds of flashlights and searched around the mattress, under the mattress and at the back of the mattress. I found no mouse.
Maybe I should go to the couch, turn on CNN and be enlightened by the realization that there are big rats in the world that can trump any wee mouse.
Instead, I fetched my trusty lap-top. Turned it on. Searched for music that might drive the mouse away and keep him from getting under our covers. I chose New Age music. The kind that drones on and on and on and on and annoys a person to sleep. Music that would irritate or scare or hypnotize the mouse.
Huge downer. The computer has a screen saver and I had to keep punching in my pass word so that the illumination and the music would stay on. I know, all you tech-savvy people could correct that problem in a minute. I’m not tech-savvy and it was one o’clock in the ^&* morning and there’s a friggen mouse only feet away and I need my sleep.
“Oh god!!” I prayed as I so gently moved my butt away from the mouse. Attempted to lift the blankets off me without annoying the mouse.
Carefully, I lifted the blankets. Gently, as if I was disarming a bomb, did I elevate my butt off the mattress.
Oh god!! The mouse had followed me. Chased me right out of my own bed. I jumped up. Wrenched the blankets off the bed and off Sue and before I could stop him Buster had it in his mouth.
There Buster was. On the bed with it in his mouth. The mouse was a bone. An Oinkie. A F#$% Buster treat.
That day I bought more mouse traps and set them up around the house.
And that night, Sue said, “I think that mouse thing might have just been a dream, dear.”