Mouses in the Hizzouse

The other night, Tituba caught herself a live mouse. She's never really been a great huntress, but lately she's been practicing a lot apparently. Did you know that a mouse, when being tormented by a cat who isn't particularly vicious but bad enough, makes a sound JUST LIKE a squeak toy? Me neither. I walked past the bathroom and heard "squeek squeek squEEEk" and thought "Where did Tituba get a squeeky toy?" Then I spotted the little brown mouse in her mouth.

It had a long tail, and was racing back behind the basket where we keep the spare TP. Tituba usually announces to us when she has caught something-- "mreow mewwoo" can be heard from all over the house (generally at about 2 am). But this time she was in "stealth mode." I yelled at Andrew to come get it (cause no matter how much of a feminist I am, it's still the man's job to get the vermin. It just IS. Centuries of patriarchal oppression have granted them that right.)

Because of a childhood filled will books like Stuart Little and The Great Christmas Kidnapping Caper (by Jean Van Leeuwen) I cannot, although I know they are diseased little things that will one day kill us all, kill mice outright. So Andrew trapped the mouse in a see-through glass and the dust-sweeper thing (what the hell are those things called again?!). It stood on its little hind paws, with the front ones up high in placation, little chest heaving, wide eyes begging for its life. Andrew carried it down the street for it to be let go to take its chances with other (tougher) neighborhood cats and the rat snake. It didn't appear to be too damaged by Tituba's efforts to catch and play with it, but boy was she pissed that Andrew "bogarted" her mouse. For hours she stalked around the closet area where the mouse was caught, sniffing and looking for it to be there, an "It was here the last time I saw it; where the hell did I leave it?" look on her face.

It made me remember once, when I was about 13, and we had doberman pinchers. I was in the big field out behind our trailer, and I heard this faint squeeking noise. The dog (Angel) heard it too and was very intrigued. I narrowed down the location, picked up a tuft of dried dead grass and saw a little nest of about five pink, blind, hairless, baby mice squirming away from the sudden chill and light my investigations had exposed them to. AWWWW, I said, and went to place the tuft of nest-grass back over the mice when Angel swooped in behind me and vacuumed them up into her mouth with a single soft whoofing sound. Didn't even chew. I felt soooo guilty. Perhaps she would have found them by herself, but my help certainly hastened their untimely mouseocaust.

Poor little mouses. They need to stay outside, and away from those who would eat them. But aren't they cute when they ride a motorcycle?