I was concerned last night when I could not find the cat. I called and called. I made kiss kiss sounds. I opened the cupboard where we keep the num-nums’ er, cat treats. Everything. Tilly was nowhere to be found.
Later, Esteban called from his whirlwind tour of the West Coast. He’s in Vegas right now, off to Anaheim tomorrow.
Weetabix: I can’t find Tilly.
Esteban: She’s probably in the basement stalking and killing something.
Weetabix: Don’t say things like that. I’m constantly in fear that I will step on a little dead corpse with a tail.
Esteban: That really bothers you, doesn’t it.
Weetabix: You think? I mean, mice are quickly becoming more feared than bats. I mean, I’m terrified of bats, but bats have never been present in this house. Mice apparently have.
Esteban: You’re afraid of bats?
Weetabix: Where have you been?
Esteban: I didn’t know that. After thirteen years, I’m learning all these new things.
Weetabix: Perhaps you’re not paying attention because’ gah, bats!
Esteban: I suppose, bats are just mice with wings right? So I should have known.
Weetabix: See, that’s why I used to be more afraid of bats. They had two methods of attack, although I don’t think I’ve ever seen bats running, even on the Discovery Channel. Even with the wings, though, I think I’ve lowered Attack by Bats to Code Orange and have elevated Proximity To Mice up to Code Red. In the event that I encounter bats or when our intelligence officials learn of bat activity, we will reevaluate the levels, but right now? Bats Orange, Mice Red.
Later, as I was watching TiVo’d Manor House (how damn hot is the Second Footman? And his ass? Mmmmhmmm. Love the British with their bare bums. Love that.), I felt Tilly attacking the bottom of the bed, which is what she does now to announce her presence. She then jumped up and was incredibly happy and playful. I petted her and basically mauled her in the manner she loves (she likes it rough, yeah, who’s your daddy!) while she purred and trilled with delight. I relaxed in the knowledge that I hadn’t unknowingly locked the cat somewhere where she would slowly die of suffocation. Because, you know, I worry.
Then this morning, I woke up right away, well rested, springing from my bed immediately, which is unusual for a chilly Wednesday morning. I stumbled into the bathroom, did the shower and grooming thing, back into the bedroom to get dressed, back into the computer room where I checked my email, read Uncle Bob and Anenigma (whom I still secretly suspect is my college roommate Kassandra), stopped back at the kitchen sink to take my asthma medication and my vitamins, walked back through again in the search for my shoes, then went into the living room to open the blinds and harass the cat, who was contentedly licking her stomach on the recliner.
Then I walked back into the kitchen and noticed half a mouse on the rug in front of the sink.
My brain took a moment to comprehend that. Half a mouse. The part with the little curled up feet and the tail. Mouse. Mouse. Half. A. Mouse.
My brain then sent an Instant Message to my heart, alerting it to Stop Working This Instant. My heart then surveyed the situation and took its own sweet time deciding whether or not to start back up again.
For an instant, I actually looked at the phone and thought about calling Esteban and demanding that he fly back home this instant and take care of this’. This’.oh my god HALF A MOUSE. But then I realized that it was just stupid and I could simply flee, run screaming from the house with my arms waving over my head and never return as long as I lived. Or possibly simply burn the house down to the ground and then salt the earth, which seemed to be a much more rational solution.
Then the background music swelled and I realized it had turned from the theme from Psycho to some Hallmark Family Theatre special about rising above insurmountable odds and the strength of character and other unbelievable bullshit like that. I sighed, swallowed, then wrapped four miles of paper towel around my hand to pick up the little pile of horror. In my head, some sick bastard was playing the soundtrack to Chariots of Fire. Luckily, I could not feel the various viscera through the wad of paper towel. I pitched it into a garbage bag and took it straight out to the curb. At least she had the courtesy to murder on garbage day.
Very disturbed, I drove to work mouse after stopping mouse at Sbux mouse as I needed mouse something to brace myself mouse. I then realized that Tilly is not just an exterminator, oh no. She’s a serial killer. I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a tiny little well in the basement and she hovers over it, all ‘It will put the lotion in the basket! It does as it is told!’. She’s eating them. Dude. She’s EATING THEM! Half a mouse! Soylent green is people!
I am seriously considering drafting up a strongly worded letter to my congressman about this. I can hardly believe that our taxes are going to help inner city kids learn to read or clean air bills when there is a rodent menace running free and breeding with abandon and showing up in pieces on kitchen rugs with their disgusting little claws up in the air. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, take up your arms and fight with me against this slithey-tailed scourge on the planet! We will not go gentle into this good night. We will prevail! We will overcome!
I’m so pissed at Esteban for jinxing me. And I’m so buying some GD mouse traps. Because seriously, if this happens again, I think I may simply perish on the spot. It seems like the best course of action, honestly.
