Sickem Sam

Well, there’s a mouse in my house. He’s a tiny little guy. Heather affectionately named him Sickem Sam. Although he’s kinda cute, we would like him to go back outside where he belongs. Every once in awhile he ventures out into the living room while we’re watching tv. We grab the broom or a cardboard tube dubbed the ‘mouse killer’ and take a few whacks at him. We don’t ever really expect to hit him, but maybe, just maybe, we can literally scare him to death as he scurries back into the storage room. Mostly we just ignore him and try to forget he’s there.

One fateful night, Heather and I had gone to bed. It was about one in the morning and I still hadn’t fallen asleep. I was right on the verge of going to dreamland, when BAM BAM BAM “Lyndsey!”

“Yes?”

“Come to my room, quick!”

I pulled myself out of bed and went to see what in the world Heather could need from me at such a ridiculous hour. She pointed at the valance above her bed and asked me if I could see anything. Nope, nothing. She swore up and down there was a mouse there, which is a creepy thought because it would have had to scamper up her bed to get clear up there. We investigated further and Heather started shaking the curtains a bit. Suddenly, there was the mouse, flying through the air and crash landing onto the carpet in the corner. Heather let out a squeal, jumped up and grabbed her pull up bar and swung outta there in a red hot second. I followed behind her laughing my head off.

There we were, both of us in shorts and a sports bra, me clutching Heathers pink cowboy boot and Heather cowering behind me wielding her camera tripod. We waited at the entrance to her doorway. The next thing I know, Heather is squealing and all the way down the hall at the opposite end of the house before I have time to blink. Apparently Sam ‘charged’ her. I didn’t see this. I think the tears of laughter must have obscured my vision. The sight of ‘rough and tough’ Heather acting like a big sissy was just too much. I loved it and don’t think I have laughed so hard in ages.

We tried one more tactic to get him out of her room. Heather found some courage, put on her cowgirl boots, and walked into her room and jumped around trying to scare him out of hiding. I lay in wait at the doorway, hoping to smash him as he ran out. We came to the mutual decision that waiting at the door to smash him was obviously not going to work. Going out right then and finding a cat also wasn’t really a feasible option. So, we came to the next ‘logical’ conclusion. (Since all mouse removal ideas hatched at 1 am are brilliant.) We swung the door shut and stuffed a towel under it to trap him in until the morning. We sat there for a second when we heard Sam scratching at the door. Yuck. Heather decided it was time for a movie to get her mind off the nasty mouse that had invaded her space. So we plopped on the couch and started some silly flick starring Cary Grant. And that is where Heather spent the rest of the night.