A Mouse in the House (Part 1)

“It’s those cats again,” I thought to myself , still mostly asleep. Yes, still mostly asleep,

but awake enough to hear the thunder of animals--my two cats-- in chase, paws

pounding heavily on the carpeted steps, running down the hall and coming ever closer.

I sensed, more than knew, that the chase had ended in the bedroom.

“Aw, c’mon, guys, cut it out!” I’m not sure if I actually said it, yelled it, or merely just

thought it. But, it didn’t matter. The chase continued, this time, back out the bedroom,

and back down the hall. Through one half-opened eye, I glanced at the clock next to

the bed. 3:57. Ugh. Two more hours before I even have to think about getting up, and

here I am awake. Or at least, partially so.


The chase changed locales again. It was now in the bathroom, with a back-and-forth

chase, up and down the length of the bathroom, only six feet or so from me. Wearily, I

again opened one eye. Framed by my sleep-laden eyelids, I saw Poker, my little black,

brown and white cat in the midst of a hot pursuit. “Strange,” I thought. “Lucky’s (the

older of our two cats) usually chasing her.” What I saw next drove that thought right out

of my head, made me open my eyes-- both of them this time, and scream out in horror,

shaking the last vestiges of sleepiness from me. A little gray mouse was the target of

Poker’s chase, not Lucky. In fact, Lucky was nowhere in sight. What happened next

was the beginning of a long, nightmarish episode for everyone involved. I was involved,

but only to the extent to which my vocal cords could carry me. My screams did not end

with my first shriek. They became the backdrop to all the events which followed.

“Walter! Walter! Quick! The cat has a mouse! Help!”


Sleepily, Walter stumbled around the bed. “No, she doesn’t. No, she doesn’t.” (He ,

obviously was in deep denial.)Then he saw it, too. Still half asleep, (he

wisely let me stay out of the way, occupying my time with shrieks which were

punctuated occasionally with blood-curdling wails) he quickly retrieved an empty

shoebox from the closet, to try his hand at playing “Catch-A-Mouse”.


The first try: Close the bathroom door to corner the mouse and to help the cat.

Somehow, signals got crossed--Poker was the one who got trapped but the mouse

obviously had strategized his game plan better. He escaped back into our room. The

tempo and the volume of my screams changed according to the distance between the

mouse and me. My steady chorus of screams now turned into clusters of

blood-curdling yelps of panic, as Mr. Mouse scampered across the room, and ducked

under my dresser, close to the door that leads to the hallway.


Hunkered over a little mouse-made map, with the solitude and protection provided by

the dresser, Mr. Mouse plotted his next move: ”Hmmm. Out the door, down the stairs,

through the kitchen, down to the basement...and FREEDOM. Seems simple enough.”

With one last glance at the map, as if to commit to memory the last detail of his planned

route, Mr. Mouse dashed out from under the dresser and into the hall...


The sight of the quivering little gray rodent sent me into another round of shouts and

screams, as I remained in bed, but ever vigilant. “Walter! He’s OUT! He’s out! He’s out

from under the dresser!” My screaming was meant to help Walter in his home version


of “Catch-A-Mouse” but served not only to add to the general confusion and hysteria of

the situation, it also messed up the mouse’s pre-planned escape route.(You know

what they say about the best-laid plans of...) well, anyway...Panicking, the mouse made

a right turn out of our bedroom, instead of the left turn he had mapped out for himself.

This major navigational error landed him in my son’s room.


“Great.” thought Mr. Mouse disgustedly when he realized that he had gotten himself

trapped. “What to do now?” Spotting the closet door slightly ajar, he dove for cover. “I’ d

better sit this thing out in here, and keep a low profile until this whole thing blows over.”

Folding the map up he stuffed it into his vest, then patted the pocket, to make sure it

would be there when he needed it later on.


My son, away at college now, had left some currently-unused clothing hanging in his

closet. Only a few pairs of shoes were left on the floor. Hiding behind one of the shoes,

the mouse began to collect himself, and calmed himself with the thought that once

things quieted down, and it was all over, even the shouting, he’d make his way carefully

straight down the hallway that would lead to his safe haven...the OUTSIDE!! That was

before he realized that Walter was still immersed in his game of “Catch-A-Mouse”.


My earlier screams had done more harm than good as far as the immediate resolution

of the Situation was concerned, but at least Walter was now aware of the fact that the

mouse was no longer under the dresser in our room, and he needed to move on to a

second try at catching the mouse. Walking into my son’s room, he began narrating his


every move to me.


“I’m looking under the bed. I don’t see it anywhere. He’s not under any of the furniture,

that I can see.” Walter was shouting now, convinced that he was still going to catch the

mouse, but just unsure about how. “I’m coming back for the cat now. Maybe SHE can

sniff the mouse out.” True to his word, Walter came, gently picked up Poker, and

brought her into Jeff’s room. Then, he came back to the retrieve the shoebox.--just in

case, he needed to play back-up to Poker’s starring role in this adventure.


Another shout from Jeff’s room got my attention, more because I was afraid about what

would happen to the mouse, than anything else. “I see the mouse! It’s behind a pair

of shoes in the closet! Now, where IS that cat?” With a sweeping gesture of his arm,

Walter pushed aside the clothes hanging in the closet, to gain better access to the

mouse with his “better mousetrap”, the shoebox. With the clothes swept aside, Walter

got a better picture of what he had to deal with next. Laughing so hard, words almost

failed him.


“You’re just not going to believe this!! I heard Walter shouting the events as they

unfolded. “The cat! The cat’s in the closet with the mouse!!” With that pronouncement,

my stomach began to ache, to ache for the poor little mouse whose doom had now

been sealed with Poker’s presence in the closet. I now knew what was going to happen

to that poor little field mouse. I also knew I had to do something. And so, I DID

something... I began to scream. Again.

And again. And again.


“Now what am I going to do?” Mr. Mouse was quickly sizing up the situation.” My little

hands are shaking so much, I can’t even grab that map out of my pocket. And here I

am, blocked in this closet by the wall and shoes on two sides of me, and that cat

creature is guarding me on the third side, waiting to pounce on me. I need a radical

change of fortunes--and plans-- if I’m ever to get out of here alive. I just wish I had paid

more attention in school when we went over escape skills in Cat Evasion Techniques

101.”


However, instead of pouncing on the mouse, Poker settled in, as if for an extended

visit. Jumping over the shoes, she squeezed herself into the corner, right next to the

quivering Mr. Mouse, waiting for Walter’s imminent arrival. Pretty proud of her ability to

corner the mouse, Poker felt no strong desire to pounce, attack, or anything even

remotely resembling a game of cat-and-mouse. She sat tall and straight, facing the

door, chest puffed out, tail wrapped around the front of her paws.


The change in fortunes that Mr. Mouse was hoping desperately for, came true. Poker

was only in it for the sport, not for the mouse. Her part in the game was over, as far as

she was concerned--the problem of what to do with the mouse now became Walter’s

problem. I was too busy screaming in the other room, too frightened for the mouse, to

do anything else. And so, this was the situation Walter found himself facing. His

support system (Poker and me) had collapsed around him. It was up to him.


Or was it? Walter, in a flash of brilliance, thought he would engage Lucky in the game.

Confident in the knowledge that Poker was in charge of the mouse, (even if it was the

other way around, everyone knew nothing was going to change much the way things

were going), Walter left the two and went downstairs in search of the elder statesman

of the cat world--or, at least, of our house. Lucky would change things quickly. He

would make things happen.


I heard Walter calling “Lucky!” Where are ya, Lucky?” Then once found,

cajoling: ”C’mon Luck! Found a mouse for you! C’mon!” Lucky was unmoved by such

mundane exhortations. He remained downstairs, and, in fact, in the same spot.

Realizing that his attempts to involve Lucky were going nowhere, Walter came back

upstairs, muttering to himself--something about feeding and caring for TWO cats, yet

HE was the one who had to catch a mouse. Well, that WAS the objective of the game,

wasn’t it? Generous to a fault, perhaps the cats felt they were denying themselves The

Prize as a gift of sorts to Walter, their benefactor. On the other hand, maybe I am being

too generous...but back to the story...


Shoebox in hand, Walter set about to complete the task at hand, to go in where the

cats feared to tread, and safely retrieve the mouse from the closet. Opening the door to

the closet wider, Walter once again narrated the events. “OK, the door’s open now,

and Poker’s STILL sitting right next to the mouse. Nothing’s changed much, although it

looks as though Poker has maybe moved a little closer to the mouse. The mouse is

shaking terribly. I think if I left again now, Poker would be putting her paw around the

mouse’s shoulder to comfort it!”


“Talk about your change in fortunes!! Just minutes ago, things couldn’t have looked any

bleaker. I was chased by a cat, cornered and guarded by same, and about to plead for

my life. Then I realized: THIS cat’s not serious about catching me! Especially after this

getting-to-know -you session, I couldn’t have gotten any luckier!! I’ll just step into this

shoebox, and be on my way. I’ll just note on my map for future reference: easy picking’s

here--a good place to winter in: food, heat, friendly atmosphere.”


I heard the front door open and close. The Mouse episode had ended peacefully.

Except for some residual teasing of Poker’s role in the situation and her subsequent

embarrassment, my hoarseness-due-to-screaming, and Walter’s sleep-deprivation

symptoms, everyone came out of the situation in pretty good shape. Especially the

mouse, who benefited greatly from this confidence-boosting event.


“Man! You shoulda seen me! I cornered that cat but good! Sure, there were a few

moments of uncertainty, but once the closet face-to-face meeting occurred, I knew I

was going to be OK. The people in the house felt sorry for me--I WAS shaking, but not

for the reason they thought--I was trying to control my laughter, my glee. Imagine,

fellow field mice, 2 adults and 2 cats in a house, me blocked in a closet, and I get out

alive to tell you about it! I’m tellin’ ya, it’s the best on-the-job training any of us can get.

Any one up to trying?”


Two days later, we had another mouse in the house.