Eek!

I've been spending a little quality house time this week.

Oktoberfest, and especially Oktoberfest while also living a normal life, quickly becomes a whirlwind of loading cars and hitting the road. Which of course usually leads to hitting the road again, with one's driveway as the destination, and unloading cars. Lots of car loading and unloading in my life.

Anyway, somewhere around the middle of the whole Oktoberfest thing, I'll stand in my living room with arms akimbo, pat my foot a few times, and marvel at just how absolutely fucking filthy my house has become. In fact, it generally takes on the same phrase every time. "God, I just live in squalor."

And it baffles me. How can someone who's never home have such a messy house? It's not logical. But I guess the coming home, car loading, taking off, coming home, car unloading, picking up new stuff, car loading, taking off again, will generally result in big piles of stuff, and then there's the laundry which never gets done during all this, and the vacuuming, and the dusting, and the on and on till you don't want to hear about it anymore.

So now that Oktoberfest is kaput for another year, I'm trying to take care of that.

The bedroom (which you've all lovingly, well, actually jokingly, but that's OK, nicknamed The Mantrap) came first, earlier in the week, and I cleaned it to within an inch of its life on Tuesday. And last night I had a lot of nervous energy and nothing to do with it, so I had at the rest.

I started in the living room, then moved to the kitchen, the dennette (which was the worst and I even spent a goodly portion of time wall-polishing), then the bathroom, and finally to the spare bedroom, also lovingly nicknamed The Beast, as it holds all those things I have no other place for.

When it was all done, about 10:30pm, The Poderosa looked nice. It smelled nice. It just felt nice. My mom would be proud of me, I decided.

Then I made a cup of coffee and sat down at the computer for a little chat with the poundsqueeze gang.

And as I was sitting there, what should I find myself looking eye to eye with, there on the step leading to my dennette, but a mouse.

A mouse!

Now, those of you who've stuck around here long enough to read me from the beginning know about my storied past here at The Pod. I had the influx of ladybugs, who finally came back this fall after they were chased away by the influx of bees a few summers ago. Every summer and fall I have an influx of spiders, who just love hanging around the doors and windows of my house, frightening me and anyone who might want to knock on the door. (Maybe that isn't such a bad thing.) Then there was the summer I had the influx of snakes. OK, so it was just the one, so I guess it was an influx of snake. That's Mr Snake to you. ("They call me Mister Snake!")

To be honest, I'd kind of wondered when it would happen. I knew it had to sooner or later. I have a backyard which leads to a creek which leads to a wilderness-covered hill. What, was I supposed to believe no mice frolicked around back there?

But still, I guess one is never quite prepared for the shock of seeing a mouse standing there staring one in the face. And then taking off at the speed of light to places one cannot reach with hand, foot, shoe, yardstick, extra-long pencil, coat hanger, or, to be honest, places you'd just as soon not stick your face to yell, "Get out of my house!" Not that I figure a mouse would listen anyway.

I'm very proud of the fact that I did not stand on a chair and shout "eek." I guess women only do that on TV. Also, I've seen my share of the little fuzzy guys at Mr M's, and so I'm relatively used to the sight of them. I was just hoping I could keep seeing them at Mr M's instead of somewhere a little closer to my own living quarters.

And so now my sparkling, shiny, good-smelling house just doesn't feel so clean anymore. Especially the kitchen, which I want to get re-cleaning on immediately. However, there's not much use in doing that while I still have a mouse in my abode, right? Therefore, I have to start planning the mouse's untimely demise. And I just don't know if I can do that.

I've been offered a cat by Stennie, but since said cat lives in Burbank, I'm not sure that's going to work. My sister has offered me her dog, Chippie, who apparently loves to chase mice, but since this is the same dog that loves to pee on me and everything in my general vicinity, I'm not so sure I want him in the house. It's like trading roaches for termites, if you get my drift.

I just cannot fathom the thought of a mousetrap because I couldn't deal with the post-trap fellow in there with his neck broken, or worse, in there with his neck almost broken, squirming for dear life.

I was thinking of sending him a "Cease and Desist" order, but I don't know how well mice read.

So I guess it's poison. Yee-ha. Good old rat poison.

Sorry in advance, little guy. It's not that I don't respect you. I mean, you were even kind of playing with me last night, darting here, darting there, stopping just long enough for me to gasp at your sight. It's just that your kind are dirty little disease-ridden creatures, however nice you may be. Nothing personal, just chain-of-life stuff.

But really, if you'd just go out an open door this would be so much easier on all of us.