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A mouse tale
Posted to as a comment to someone else's LJ, and preserved here for posterity.
Many years ago, I lived in a house with Joel (the owner) and Nate. One evening, Nate mentioned that he thought he'd seen a mouse, and I contemplated traps and D-Con and thought nothing more of it.
That was, until the next morning, when I woke up to the alarm clock, put on my glasses, and swung out of bed. At just that moment, a mouse ran across the room. I shrieked and levitated back onto the bed, and it took a real effort of will to get my feet back on that floor.
I have nothing against mice in the abstract. Mice in cages are just fine, even a mouse in someone's hands. But a mouse on the floor of my room caused an entirely irrational reaction. As![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pameladean said long ago, it's not mice per se; it's small fast things that come out of anywhere and could be anything.
I eventually managed to force myself out of the bed, and I ran down the hall to Joel's room. I knocked, and there was no response. I knocked again. A sleepy "What?" emerged.
I said, "Joel, there's a mouse in my room." There was a long pause.
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
And I really didn't know. I just knew that it was his house and he was responsible for problems like mice. What I really, wanted, of course, was for him to make that particular mouse go away and never come back. Thus mice do make cowards of us all.
(In the end, I called the exterminators, and he paid for it, because he was the one responsible, but I was the one who cared.)
Many years ago, I lived in a house with Joel (the owner) and Nate. One evening, Nate mentioned that he thought he'd seen a mouse, and I contemplated traps and D-Con and thought nothing more of it.
That was, until the next morning, when I woke up to the alarm clock, put on my glasses, and swung out of bed. At just that moment, a mouse ran across the room. I shrieked and levitated back onto the bed, and it took a real effort of will to get my feet back on that floor.
I have nothing against mice in the abstract. Mice in cages are just fine, even a mouse in someone's hands. But a mouse on the floor of my room caused an entirely irrational reaction. As
pameladean said long ago, it's not mice per se; it's small fast things that come out of anywhere and could be anything. I eventually managed to force myself out of the bed, and I ran down the hall to Joel's room. I knocked, and there was no response. I knocked again. A sleepy "What?" emerged.
I said, "Joel, there's a mouse in my room." There was a long pause.
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
And I really didn't know. I just knew that it was his house and he was responsible for problems like mice. What I really, wanted, of course, was for him to make that particular mouse go away and never come back. Thus mice do make cowards of us all.
(In the end, I called the exterminators, and he paid for it, because he was the one responsible, but I was the one who cared.)