There’s a mouse in the house.
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Actually, I’m pretty sure there’s a few.
In the middle of the night they sound as though they are the size of possums having a party.
When our local possum does scamper across the roof each night though, he sounds like he’s the size of a small goat.
Of course it is probable our rodents probably are just regular-sized mice.
Even so, I did have a slight altercation with a rather healthy looking body builder type mouse this morning in the car shed.
Buster was barking up a storm, so I knew he was tracking some kind of creature.
I decided to join the hunt.
A very bad smell had been emanating from near his kennel for some time and I knew it was my duty to investigate.
In no time, I was eyeball to eyeball with a huge mouse.
It was chowing down on a delicious bag of dog biscuits.
With all those vitamins and minerals, it’s no wonder Mr. Mouse’s coat had a lustrous shine and there was an extra sparkle in his eye.
We stared at each other long and hard, this tough looking mouse and me.
I could see that he had eaten a hole in the back of the bag, and Mr. Mouse knew that I knew.
I was on to him and there was no going back.
There ensued a miniature mouse sized stand-off, until all of sudden it was over.
As I dragged out Buster’s kennel, Mr. Mouse escaped to multiply, burping dog foody, “na-na- na-na- nas” all the way.
His hasty escape was facilitated by my distraction at the source of the smell - now rudely revealed behind Buster’s abode.
It was a dead mouse.
A very dead, dead mouse -about as dead as you can get.
And I don’t think getting dead had been much fun for this mouse either.
It certainly didn’t smell like it was having any fun being dead.
So I disposed of it.
It wasn’t as hard to catch as the frog I had in my bedroom last month.
Not as scary as the spider in the bathtub two weeks ago.
Or as horrifying as the cockroach in Katianna’s top.
Not as icky as the centipede in the office.
You have to be courageous to keep house.
YOLANDE GROSSER