EEK! A MOUSE!

 My daughter came into my bedroom at 5 this morning (an ungodly hour that I had up to now believed was a mere rumour) and informed me that there was a mouse in her room.  I asked the only question that I believed to be pertinent at the time - "Is it playing the harmonica?"  Because, as we all know, a mouse in one's bedroom is one thing, but one playing a harmonica (particularly considering that rodents are not renowned harmonica players so it stands to reason that the playing would not be particularly tuneful), is quite something else.

She informed me that, to her knowledge, this particular mouse appeared not to be playing the harmonica or, for that matter, any kind of musical instrument, including the clarinet which is not popular with mice because of its length, rendering it quite difficult to hold and play at the same time.  

Well, that was a relief, I must say.  So I leaped out of bed and immediately fainted as I have never

(a)  leaped out of bed in my life

(b)  leaped out of bed at 5 in the morning

(c)  done ANYTHING at 5 in the morning.

I came to my senses by having Robyn smack me upside the head and remind me that there was a mouse in her room and, as an update, and before I could inquire of her, she informed me that it was not playing the piano or the violin.  

I entered her room employing all the stealth I had acquired in my many years as an imaginary CIA agent (I pushed her in front of me) and there, lo and behold, was a tiny mouse cowering in the corner while the cat (who had brought said mouse inside) appeared to be attempting to dig a tunnel into the next door neighbour's place, what with all the scratching he was doing. 

Well, first things first, I thought, and went to put on the kettle for a cup of tea.  But my daughter, pushy little bugger that she is, insisted that I address the rodent situation post haste, if not sooner.  As if by divine intervention, I heard a voice say "Go towards the light", and I, shocked to discover that there was, in fact, a God, despite my life-long quest to prove otherwise, replied "Yes, Lord", and then was quite surprised to hear Robyn say "MAM!  The mouse is behind the light!"

So there you have it.  There is, in fact, no God.  Or, if there is, he's no good in a mouse emergency.  And, if  he did, indeed, exist, he would surely have shown up in a blaze of light and gone "Girls, it's a mouse.  Get a grip, for fuck sake."  Alternatively, if he was a scaredy cat, he might have cowered behind me and screamed "A mouse!" into my ears.  Then again, if he was a jerk, he might have sneaked up behind me and scared the bejezuz out of me.  Or, if he was a really annoying git, he might have tap danced into the room playing the banjo and treated us to a soft shoe shuffle before disappearing through the wall.  But no such visitation occurred. 

Anyway, for some unknown reason my brain kicked in and I told Robyn to remove the cat and lock him outside the door.  I then proceeded to approach the mouse using extreme caution and moving in such a manner as to make the most stealthy ninja exclaim to his fellow ninjas "Jesus, yer one's awfully sneaky altogether."  (Lest there be any confusion I am describing an Irish Ninja.)  Well, that plan didn't work because the mouse ran across the floor and under Robyn's bed.  Robyn screamed.  I screamed.  And I'm pretty sure I heard my neighbour - an elderly lady - scream, although, truth be told, that particular senior citizen has been known to make various nocturnal noises that have occasionally made us wonder if she talks in her sleep, overdoes it on her medications, or is fighting off an intruder intent on relieving her of her dentures.

And so I found myself lying on the floor peering into the dark under the bed trying to tell if I was looking at an accumulation of dust and hair or a frightened mouse.  I tentatively extended a finger and realized I was, in fact, poking a mouse, for it skittered out from under the bed and into another corner.  I jumped up, maiming myself on the bed frame and, in a semi-conscious state, momentarily imagined that my name was Gloria and I was a fish monger on Moore Street.  

Despite being in a semi-conscious state, what with hitting my head and being up at such an ungodly hour, my brain was working overtime trying to figure out a way to get Robyn to accept the presence of the mouse as no big deal - despite the fact that if the mouse had been in MY room, I would have been calling the police, an ambulance, a fire truck and several weightlifters - so that I could go back to bed and continue dreaming that I had kidnapped Sister Margaret Mary, my high school principal, and was sticking red hot pokers up her bum.

"Look, Robyn", I attempted.  "That mouse is tiny and he's more scared of you than you are of him."  "He's standing on your foot", Robyn said.  And I looked down and there was the little fucker having a rest on my sock.  Well, I screamed loud enough to cause gale force winds in Djibouti, and ran into the closet, where I attempted to try on some of Robyn's clothes, only to be depressed to discover that they were too small for me.

I decided on a different approach.  "Ok", I said, re-emerging from the closet with a pair of her knickers on my head.  "I never wanted to tell you this but you forced my hand.  Robyn, I'm not your mother."  My daughter, having heard this attempted distraction before, was having none of it.  "Ah, Mam, stop", she said.  Right, I thought, if that's your response, I'll up the ante and see where it gets me.  "Well, ok, that's not true", I began earnestly.  "But your father is a pirate from the shores of Kathmandu." "Kathmandu is in the mountains", she replied, and I cursed the day I had ever encouraged her to study geography.  "Would you believe that I'm actually the Dalai Lama?", I threw in as my final bid.  "You're an idiot", she said and I have to admit she had a point there. 
 

And while this fascinating exchange was taking place, didn't the mouse run across the floor and out under the door, leaving Robyn and I locked in a staring match which she easily won because I believe staring is rude and also I'm no good at it.  As we were heading back to bed, the crisis behind us, I said "We might be exhausted by the trauma of this mouse ordeal, but we should be determined that, no matter what tomorrow may bring, we must embrace each moment of our lives with a cry of....."

I never got to finish that sentence because it was at that precise moment that Robyn closed her door, indicating by that very gesture that she required of me nothing more than to fuck off and leave her alone.