Mutant Mouse Eats My Snack Cakes...Bring It, Mick!

Friday evening, I was sitting on the couch enjoying quality time with Ben & Jerry and TLC's Randy to the Rescue, when I heard bags rattling in the kitchen.  At first, I thought nothing of it.  Being alone in the house is a rarity, and living with Paul and Wesley, well, bags are always rattling in the kitchen.　 It took a few minutes for me to finish my frozen treat and to realize that I was the only known creature in the house capable of making that kind of noise…And it weren't me.  I went to investigate, like any 45-year-old, blonde, white woman would do in any given horror movie, armed only with an empty gourmet ice cream container and a spoon. The sound was coming from cabinet where the snacks, personalized stationery, and other sundries are kept. (I am not one celebrated for my organizational skills).  The Unknown Creature was either eating potato chips or penning a note to a friend.

I stood in front of the cabinet for some length of time thinking that given my professional level of crisis response skills, I should certainly be able to figure out what to do next. I couldn't. I then did what any strong, independent woman would do…I called my husband at work. The following conversation ensued:

Me:　 Tom, there is something in the kitchen cabinet!

Tom:　 It's one am.

Me:　 It sounds huge!  I think it's eating chips.

Tom:　 Open the cabinet and see what it is.  It's probably just a bug.

Me to myself:　 Are you f*#kin’ kidding me?

Me:　 No. I will not open the cabinet. And it is NOT a bug. I can't open the cabinet.　

Tom:　 I am sure it's just a little field mouse, or something.  Just go to bed. I will deal with it in the morning.

Me:　 No field mouse makes that kind of noise. And I can't sleep with a monster in the kitchen. And by morning it may have eaten the dogs.  Neither one can move very quickly.  Worse still, it may slink into the bedroom.

Tom:　 Go to the bedroom, close the door, and put a towel underneath the door.

Me:　 WHAT!?  You spent how many years in the military (and as a weapons specialist, no less), and that's all you got? Barricade myself in the bedroom and put a towel under the door?  Don't you have a flame thrower somewhere in the house?

Tom:　 Angie, go to bed.  I will see you in the morning.

Me to a dial tone:　 I hope you do see me, with all my limbs still attached.  By the way, my affairs are NOT in order, and YOU, dear husband, will have a hell of a time planning my funeral without my input.  I will haunt you if it is a tacky production!  Who am I kidding, I am going to haunt your ass anyway!

I thought about sleeping on the deck, or at a safer distance, in the yard.  I haven't actually slept in my yard before, well, at least not sober, but it was becoming more and more appealing as the sounds continued to get louder.

I finally gave up, and barricaded myself in the bedroom.  I turned the television volume up so I couldn't hear the savage beast dining in cupboard.  The dogs were on their own.  And, no, I did not put towels under the doors.  That would have been as pointless as locking the doors of a convertible with the top down.  I was certain that Mickey Mouse's Evil Twin, Mutant Mick, could easily gnaw through wood if he wanted me for dessert.

Tom arrived at 6:30 am, and lucky for him, I was still alive.  With his sharp detective skills, coupled with an advanced knowledge in the area of wildlife biology (of which I was previously unaware), he quickly surmised that the creature was, in fact, a small field mouse.  Tom had retraced the intruder's steps, examined the creature’s feces, and came to this conclusion. I remain unconvinced. And this is why...

Mutant Mick enjoyed a Little Debbie's Oatmeal Creme Pie. Below is the remnant of said snack cake, which I am entering as Exhibit 1.

　

　

A field mouse? This is a human sized bite, people. Tom Grant, AKA Marlin Perkins, also discovered droppings in the frying pan.  Mick must have made an omelet for breakfast before he left...Where were the dogs?!

So my Mouse Whisperer left for another work shift after his 15 minute investigation.  And, I returned to my bedroom prison. I began making a list of all the charges I had grounds for in both the civil and criminal arenas. This carb craving vector should be charged with the following:  breaking and entering into my home, taking me hostage, stealing my snack cakes; not to mention causing me undue stress, pain and suffering. Perhaps the vilest offense; however, is the fact that he disrespected me by crapping all over my kitchen counters. Feces, manure, dung, shit…it is not “droppings,” it is SHIT, Marlin, SHIT.

This is the end of my blog ranting entry, for I am too tired to carry on…It’s Monday, and Mick continues to elude capture. So, my plight persists. I now avoid the kitchen at all costs. Actually, I have always avoided the kitchen, but it’s for a really good reason now.

A. Ballerina