Dear Kat, it’s just a mouse

One quiet afternoon I was click-clacking away at my computer while sitting at my parents’ dining room table. I had decided to spend the day in the country away from drunk college kids, their noisy cars and gross smoking habits. My parents were out doing real people tasks like having jobs, buying groceries or something else adults do and I was left to my own devices. As I was typing, from the corner of my eye I spotted movement near the sliding screen door across from where I was sitting. I ignored it at first, thinking it was nothing more than a moth or some other seemingly harmless insect you find in country. Then, the creature made a run for it, and I immediately knew what I was dealing with. A mouse. It ran inches from my chair and took shelter under the refrigerator in the kitchen.

I don’t want to say I hate mice because, from a distance, if they’re not too close or contaminating my eating space, I rather like them. They’re cute, tiny and harmless. But, if I am forced to extract or relocate them, I hate mice. Back when I was living with my parents there was a matter of months where I had a mouse living in my closet underneath my old sports bags. I didn’t really know what to do about it and the stupid thing would make me so nervous, I would just stare in it’s general direction, or where I believed it’s general direction was, for hours before drifting to sleep each night. My closet was a danger zone and nobody else in my family seemed concerned with my dilemma. They’d say, “buy a mousetrap,” or reassure me that it was “just a mouse.” I think eventually my cat, Charlie, disposed of it because it stopped making appearances, and the mousetraps were always empty.

Anyway, I found myself revisiting my nervous mouse-staring state yet again. I was pretty sure it was under the refrigerator and I was definitely sure it wasn’t staying long because it’s loud and hot under there. Sure enough, after a couple minutes it had scrambled onto the countertop, across the stove, and took refuge behind the coffee maker, toaster and sugar jar. At this point I’m mortified and start racking my brain for what I “should” be doing in this situation.

“What would an adult do?” I thought to myself. “Should I try to catch the mouse? What does one catch a mouse with? There might be a beta fish net somewhere.”

“Could I whack it with something?” I thought, glancing around for tools. “No, no. Avoid squishing at all costs.”

“Maybe I could bait it into a jar with cheese,” I continued, “but that would require being close enough to it to lock it in a jar…and then I would have a jar with a mouse in it.”

At this point the mouse reappears and makes its way to the front side of the toaster it was hiding behind. He sniffs around a little, completely unaware of my relentless gaze. He continues perusing the countertop with nimble mouse-like movements only stopping to nibble on crumbs he finds. Suddenly, I realize I’m watching the mouse try to climb inside the toaster. He attempts to grasp the top of the slick, plastic appliance and slips a few times before successfully hoisting his tiny furry body into the right toaster slot. Now, I’m just shocked and all I can think is, “ew” and “why” and “I don’t want to deal with a mouse in the toaster.” At that moment, the phone rings and it’s my mother.

I answer and she says, “Hi! I just got a weather warning on my phone about a thunderstorm, could you check the windo — ”

“Mom,” I interject.

She ignores me and continues on, “Oh I think you broke up for a second. Could you check the windows and the do..”

“But mom,” I try again.

“Honey, it’s supposed to hail and I don’t want — ”

“Mom, there’s a mouse in the toaster.” I finally spit out.

There’s a moment of silence as she comprehends what I had been trying to tell her.

“Oh yay!”

Not the response I was expecting.

“I’ve been trying to catch that thing for the past week. Do you think you could trap it and take it outside? Actually if you could take it far away from the house that’d be great. I don’t want it coming back.”

“Mom, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Well — Katrin it’s just a mouse. Try to be brave? It would make me really happy if we caught that mouse.”

“Uhgg Ok. I’ll try.” I tell her.

“Try reallllyyyy hard. And don’t forget to shut the windows.”

Beep.

Super. Now I’m obligated to make an effort to catch the mouse. I traded obnoxious college kids for mouse trapping. After a bit more of sulking and nervous-staring I decide that I need to poke around to make sure the mouse is in fact still in the toaster and not hiding creepily behind or underneath the appliance. I get a long serving spoon and scoot the toaster to the left a bit to rattle things up. Nothing happens, so I unplug the device and assume he’s still inside. If not, he’s no longer in this general vicinity and no longer my problem.

Next, I decide to find something flat and heavy to place on top of the toaster in order to trap the little guy inside. I gather a stack of magazines and slowly and carefully position them on top of the toaster, then back away really quickly. I’m pretty proud of myself at this point, believing the extraction is going pretty smoothly.

Then a thought pops in, “Maybe mice are strong like ants.”

“What if the mouse just lifts up and scoots underneath the 8 magazines and scurries it’s tiny germ infested claws all over my body while I am carrying the toaster outside.”

The thought makes me shudder so I go on the search for another heavy-something. Finally, I find a toolbox with a giant drill in it and plunk it on top of the magazines. I spend the next 5 minutes pumping myself up to carry the toaster outside. Just as I get up to remove the toaster, my dad gets home from work.

Relief spreads over me. As he walks in I greet him: “Hi!” I say awkwardly trying to act normal-ish.

“Hi…?” He says, anticipating something’s up. He glances toward the kitchen and asks, “Why is there a tool box on the toaster?”

“I trapped a mouse in it.” I say.

He laughs a bit then says. “I think the magazines would have done it.”

I shrug sheepishly and say, “I didn’t know how strong mice were.”

“Not that strong,” he says while walking to the toaster. “How long has it been in there?”

“A few minutes.” I say, “I’ve been trying to find the courage to carry it outside.”

“It’s just a mouse, Katrin.” He says amused, then proceeds to carry the makeshift mousetrap outside, shake the mouse out and dispose of the toaster.