Because

The Musings of

Something full of magic, religion, bullsh*t.

Friday, January 13, 2006

It's so quiet up here, you could hear a mouse get a hard on.

Despite my constant watch, supplemented by the nighttime vigilance of my cats -- who only look like they're sleeping until you poke them a few times -- we have not seen shell nor hair of our man-eating armadillo. He did, however, come through and aerate my yard about six weeks ago. I'm not kidding, there was a 20' X 20' section that looks like the golf team over at the school for the blind was practicing their long irons. I don't know what the bastard was looking for, but he was pretty damn persistent in his efforts.

That does not mean my life have been wildlife-free. The babe and me were driving down a little side road about a mile from our house one night when we almost ran over a opossum who appeared to be napping the middle of the road. I just did stop in time, and I asked the babe if she saw him run off the road, or was he under the truck. She said she didn't see anything, and, like and idiot, I get out and walk around looking under the truck. I knew he had run off the road, opossums are slow, not stupid, but a couple of years ago I had a run in with a football-sized bullfrog who had sought refuge under my truck and wouldn't leave, and I've been paranoid ever since.

Then there was this morning. Since we moved in our house in August, we've had an armoire parked in the garage. A few days ago the babe decided that the armoire would look better in an upstairs bedroom, and had me wheel the monster in to the bottom of the stairs. After measuring for size, weight, and wind speed, we decided that their wasn't a snowball's chance in Houston we would be able to get the damn thing up the stairs. Actually, we were democratic and voted on it, and it was 1-1, with the person who would be doing the actual lifting voting against the proposal. Failing to reach a consensus, the armoire has remained sitting in front of the steps, which is sort of the interior equivalent to having a car on blocks in your front yard.

This morning, I was in the middle of my constitutional when I noticed that one of the cats was staring intently under the armoire. Now, this particular cat is a freak for anything that is small and moves. I can't count the number of times I've found a dead spider, cricket, or gecko on the floor where the jackass had mauled it and left. So I figure there's an insect up under the armoire that needs removal. I get down on my hands and knees and look into the small dark space and don't see anything but a toy mouse. I look up and there is, incredibly, a flashlight sitting on the end table next to me, so I grab it and shine it under. That's when I notice that the toy mouse had distinct, untoylike attributes, such as wet eyes and moving whiskers. Great.

So I go in the utility room and grab my work gloves. I come back, reach under the armoire and flush the little guy. He shoots across the room, drawing the attention of my dangerous cat that, I kid you not, has been observed catching a bird in midair. Now my den is beginning to resemble race time at the dog track with the mouse playing the part of the mechanical rabbit, my cat playing the greyhound, and me playing the fat guy who can't get off the ground fast enough to participate.

Fortunately, the mouse ran into the closet containing the water heater. The problem is that the space is so confined, I can barely see around back of the drum. I go get the mouse-catching tool (which resembles a spatula) and after several minutes I was able to flush the beast out into the neighboring bathroom. I cornered him behind the trash basket, scooped him up, and headed for the front door.

Now, I figure the best thing to do is to put him in the landscaping toward the front of my yard, like that will somehow keep him from finding the house 20 yards away. So I get up there, bend down, and open my hand expecting him to haul ass. Instead, the little bugger started casually walking up my arm, where he stopped on my bicep long enough to take a crap on the sleeve of my dress shirt. Nice. Then he continued his climb up to my shoulder, around and down my back, where he jumped off my ass and headed back toward the house! I manage to grab him again, and on the way to the bushes the little ingrate bit me -- or he would have if I wasn't wearing gloves. Next time, he's cat food.

And that, sir, is why I was late to work today.
 
Centinel 7:44 AM #

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