Saturday, March 27, 2010

The Mouse That Was My Vietnam

Posting here in the past has been a compulsion, a nervous tic; however, it was real easy to step away once I got sucked back into the workaday world at a job that required a bit more of my attention, as new jobs often do. But here I am, back again.

So what's going on? Not a lot - As I write this, I'm locked in mortal combat with a mouse who's invaded my home. I'm sure this fucker'll forever be two steps ahead of me as I waste far too much energy on hunting the beast down. I feel vaguely like Wile E. Coyote (or perhaps Al Bundy would be a better analogy). Why the anger toward this Disneysque creature? I'm sure the whiskered cutie breaks out in song after hours as I slumber, after all. And frankly it's nice to have company over - I should welcome him into the fold with a saucer of milk (saucer of cheese?) Ahh, fuck all that - I've got the traps all set up, so it's just a matter of time for him and his brethren. Short of that, I'm at the ready with my fireplace shovel to slap him into space, Scratchy-style. Then again, Scratchy is the one who is repeatedly pummeled by that little Itchy rodent. Where's Willard when you need him?

(Epilogue:  The mouse is dead, long live the mouse.  I found it this morning in the kitchen, caught in the web of one of my glue traps, poisoned by the bait and stuck.  It had managed to slide the trap half way across the room, trying in vain to drag it with him under the stove but only half making it.  Judging by the particular trap he was snarred in, I now know the tiny hole from which the guy made his entrance.  Time to close it up.  I feel awful about his demise but imagine he's only the first of an army, now seething with anger over my atrocity, much like Platoon's Sgt. Barnes in the village.  I'm waiting for the Johnny Depp translator mouse to come up to me and start asking who the rice and the weapons are for ... er, I mean the glue traps and poison-laced bait. But I digress.)