Here’s a little humor for you, a true story from my little life. I made a funny. Or the mousie did. Something like that.
So, yeah. That was fun. Here I am, driving along to pick up kid #2. I look over, for some unknown reason (like I’m psychic or my predator-radar pinged), and there is a cute furry little rodent on the floor of the car. Scurrying towards me. It is a demonic attack mousie with fangs, wings, and supermouse speed. Or possibly just fur. I do not, at this point, scream. Or crash the car and die.
After the adrenaline spike, I semi-calmly pull over, mostly not in the middle of the intersection of my backwoods road. How can something so small trigger fight-or-flight (all flight) in a fully grown human? Anyways, I start muttering at the mouse as I get out. I do an angry dance around the car, yelling things like “stupidhead” as I open doors to let him smell freedom. I run around the car trying to see him. I poke under the seat with sticks trying to find him.
Please note: I do not have an inherent fear of mice, just things faster than me climbing on me. Especially when I am wearing a skirt and have my hair down, for additional places to get caught and struggle and bite me.
Suddenly he zooms out from under the seat to under the dash, and that’s when I scream. Not a little scream, oh no. A cliché, cartoon woman-jumping-up-on-the-table, full volume, wake-the-neighbors shriek. I did not know I could make this noise. We begin a game of cat-and-mouse (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), where I poke under the seat until he runs under the dash, then I bang on the dash until he runs under the seat, all while he is apparently impervious to the fresh air just past a one inch lip on the side of the floor.
20 minutes later I’m still yelling at the mouse, things like, “I will whip your little mousie butt!” and “Get out of my car!” in death metal growl. I am picturing the people in the nearby houses tittering from behind the curtains at my wrath. I text my poor waiting teen, “Can’t come get you. Trapped by mousie in the car.” Luckily I live near nice people who stop and ask if I am ok, and a mom and her son stop and help me poke sticks under the seat. After many minutes of enthusiastic stick-poking we conclude that the mousie must have left, and they leave.
I had started the car to see if that would flush him out (hopefully not kill now-traumatized mousie) but he was a no-show. Lo and behold, as soon as I start moving the car, guess who shows up. In a marvelous show of fortitude, I do not scream or crash the car, again. I go back to my spot of shame in the intersection. I pull out a travel coloring tray, to try to sweep the little guy out. He pops out of the spot I didn’t expect him from, I give a mini-shriek, and I masterfully sweep him out of the car with my trusty coloring tray. I jump out of the car, yelling, “stay the heck out of my car bad mousie,” like he can leap like supermouse back in, and slam all the doors shut.
Being properly paranoid, I sit and wait for any rodent friends, banging on things and yelling in as threatening a way as this mom can manage. Finally I decide it might possibly be safe to get to school so I can let the rodents eat the teen while I run, and I continue on my way. That was my adventure of the day, and so ends this mousie saga.
We hope you enjoyed our Attack of the Killer Mousie – I Made a Funny post
Photo credits: Demon mousie by me, Melissa French, original mouse and bat images from The Graphics Fairy