Imagine this: I’m at work, at the radio station where it’s always rainbows and sunshine. I know, already you are doubting my honesty. But I really do love where I work. My co-workers are fantastic and fun, and I get to listen to music and talk for a paycheque, which totally rocks. Anyway, I’m at work, and I’ve just been told by my boss that I can record an hour or so of breaks so that I can go have a free lunch at our Christmas party, which I thought I was going to miss, and, of course, mingle with my fellow radio peeps. This is a dream.
That’s when the text message comes. It’s from my babysitter, who is home with my 2 year old. “You have mice in the toyroom.” My response: “What???????” Yes, that’s 7 question marks. That’s to show my COMPLETE shock at this message. I am panicked, but I am also embarrassed. Does my babysitter think this is a normal occurence? Does she think I usually have mice in the playroom? What does this say about me? My housekeeping skills? Her next message: “A real live mouse running in the toyroom.” “Shut up!! Seriously???” “Also Zoey wants a bath. Yes I am serious.” What? I am not proud of the language I then used, but suffice it to say I was not seeing rainbows and sunshine anymore. Now this is where you might think I am a crazy woman. Panicking about a little old mouse? Cursing about a little old mouse?
You see, I have a bit of a history with mice. The house I lived in during my final year of university was INFESTED with mice, unbeknownst to me until too late…I had already moved in. They became known to me after about 1 day of living there, when one ran across the kitchen floor as my roommates and I ate dinner. They had lived there for two years, and so they were not surprised, but I freaked out. I’m talking “jumped-onto-the-kitchen-table-and-screamed-my-face-off” freaked out. It was taken care of soon after and I thought that was the end of it. Wrong. Some of my roommates filled me in by saying, “We hear them scurrying around all the time above us. They’re in the floor under your room.” I slept with boxes in front of my bedroom door for the remaining seven months. Terrified of mice running all over me in my sleep.
Fast-forward sixteen years and a few months. “Good luck, they are hard to get rid of and multiply quickly.” That was an email from my parents, upon reading my mouse update on Facebook. I guess I didn’t care so much about the embarrassment anymore. I just wanted someone to tell me it would be okay, and tell me the best way to catch a mouse. Yes, the plan was to catch it THAT night. No way was I sleeping in a house with a little old mouse. It could find itself a lovely mouse mate and reproduce. It could poop all over the house. It could end up in our pantry full of food. The day went on, my husband and I finished work and got home, and there was no sign of the mouse. Just like most other nights, our son was stalling going to bed. He had come downstairs after getting ready for bed, and we let him stay with us for about half an hour. After he finally did go up to bed, he let out a bloodcurdling scream within seconds. Our little guy had found the mouse…in his room…running across his floor from his bed to his dresser. If not for that delay in going to bed, maybe that little mouse would not have been found. But he was. And the animal lovers will be happy to know that the mouse was caught (my husband caught him by hand) and released into the wild. Into the wilds of Wingham, Ontario. And even via the front door, in style.