Mouse Drama

There was complete MAYHEM in my house the past few days. It started when Martin went to get something in the car Sunday night, left the front door open, and our cat Kiwi bolted inside with a live mouse she dropped at Miss C’s feet … which went over well … as you can imagine.

Screaming. Chaos. More screaming. Tossed furniture. Tears. Doors slamming. Someone has a broom. Another has the vacuum. More screaming as the mouse ran and dropped down into the basement from the first floor landing.

Meanwhile, Kiwi was perched on the staircase, watching like a proud lion king over the land.

Despite having a rodent dropped on her foot, Miss C ran after the mouse screaming, “DON’T KILL IT!!!” I shouted back that she was about to get a life lesson in dealing with vermin. She insisted on watching to make sure we saved it, but I anticipated it getting a little Rated R in the house … for violence.

I stayed up in my bedroom. There was a wave of screams coming from the basement. Martin sounded determined. I googled the names of local therapists as I posted updates online for our friends and family to follow.

At some point, it sounded like they had it cornered, and were trying to get it to go into a bucket. (If it wants to live, it will go into the bucket…)

But nothing happened.

I eventually rounded up the kids and got them into bed because they were NOT helping the situation. I told them, “Yes. The mouse will be taken to a farm … a friend’s farm … just a short drive away … and you will be able to visit this mouse ANY time you want.”

Miss C, though, refused to be pulled away. I think she had PETA on speed dial. I had no idea.

The mouse was nowhere to be found. Martin spent the rest of the evening down there cleaning EVERYTHING — throwing out old boxes, removing piles of papers, rearranging furniture, dusting and vacuuming EVERYWHERE. Had I known how effective this would be, I would have dropped live mice in every room MONTHS ago.

I envisioned Kiwi finding the mouse overnight, and dropping it on my face, she wasn’t allowed anywhere close to me, absolutely BANNED from the bedrooms. Damn cat figured out how to open all the doors in our house, though, so I had a barricade our door. Admittedly, she became king of the house at that moment.

Two days later, though, it all came to an end. The mouse was gently released — alive and well — in the open field outside our village about 30 minutes ago.

After we couldn’t find it that first night, Martin set out multiple traps, but caught nothing. When I got home from work Tuesday, the traps were still bare, so I tasked our nanny Wynter and Miss C to start removing my books and boxes from my bookshelf where it was last spotted.

Sure enough, the mouse was camped out behind one of the ledges, docile enough to be shoo’d into a bucket and taken out by Miss PETA herself.

Kiwi is no longer King of the House, but remains an asshole.