Our Mousie Roommate  

We have a mouse and a cat. The cat really enjoys the mouse’s company, but I’m not always entirely sure that the feeling is mutual. I suspect if we were to ask the mousie, they would politely request that the kitty be given some training on bad touch and also perhaps additional guidance on the proper amount of saliva that can be deposited on a playmate during any one play session.  But mostly they play together and then go their separate ways without incident. 

We sort of figure that—like with children and chores—if we do the work for the cat and trap the mousie ourselves, the feline will never learn to cat properly. So while SigO will occasionally relocate said mousie outdoors, we’ve mostly decided to coexist with it. Besides the kids beg us to let the mousie live and I’m still a sucker for their earnest little pleadings. 

We also own a rat terrier, born and bred to kill vermin and lay their mutilated carcasses at our feet.

 

But as of this present moment, he’s not interested in such endeavors. I’m not the kind of person to restrict people’s identity to the arbitrary label they were born with. Instead, I just let him lead his best dog life and occasionally decorate him for holidays. 

Since neither of my offical pets are not interested in mouse-slaughter, I keep my chocolate and other valuables in the fridge and check that there’s no stash of seeds under my pillow before I go to bed at night. It's not that big of a deal. 

I will admit to giving a little morning scream of surprise when I saw our roommate on the shelf last week, but that was only because:

  1. It was at eye-level and very close to my face
  2. I hadn’t had any coffee yet and I think screaming at any kind of creature before coffee is completely rational. 

 

However, yesterday I opened the door to the pantry and discovered that mousie-pants had a bit of a fiesta. In the flour. 

Now, little mousie friend eschewed the confectioner’s sugar, the organic cornbread mix, and the mug cake packets in favor of white flour. Look, I can understand a love of carbs and empty calories, but flour?

 

Come on. If you’re going to binge, make it a good carb! I can't associate with such an inrational and sub-par mouse. How can I brag about its exploits on Facebook when it makes such ludicrous decisions? I require my mousie to perform amusing antics if it is going to remain in my good graces. 

Then it hit me--there is  one possible explanation. Our mousie must have escaped from Columbia University’s study in which they turned off the sweet tooth  in mice. It is therefore a very special mousie and we should be lucky it chose to seek refuge in our humble cabin. Cleaning up flour is a small price to pay to reside with such an esteemed colleague.

 



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Copyright © 2018 Lara Lillibridge

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