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Thursday, March 13, 2014

A "Tail" of Two Mice AND GusGus

By now, you now of my mouse debacle.

However, there was one crucial member I left out of the mouse brigade, GusGus.

GusGus is shorter than the other two mice, he is also a bit chubs. Ok, he is very chubs. GusGus LOVES to eat. I don't blame him. He is a mouse. What else is there to do in the life of a mouse? You can only run through so many mazes before it becomes a bit redundant. What else are you going to do? EAT.

One evening after returning home from work, I turned on the kitchen light to reveal GusGus chomping away at a large crumb. The moment he became aware of my presence, he dropped his crumb and worked his way to the mouse hole.

Normally, the mice bolt towards an exit. It happens so quickly that at times, I can barely register what is happening before the mouse is out of sight.

With GusGus, I had PLENTY OF TIME to register. GusGus' little belly dragged against the floor. He shuffled along, putting forth an enormous amount of effort, desperate to make his escape.

The Original GusGus from Cinderella. Source


Imagine you are watching a race.  The starting gun sounds as a herd of racers take off, dashing down the track. You look back to see one kid left behind. He is giving his best, but has managed to only traverse mere feet away from the starting line. He isn't running as much as he is shuffling. All you can do is hope he somehow finishes. While all of this passes through your mind, the others races complete the run.

Now, EVERYONE is watching the one kid. Talk about an anxiety attack. At first, everyone cheers him on, but the encouragement proves fruitless as he speed remains that of a turtle. The cheering stops. Now it's plain old AWKWARD. You look away, stare at the sky, anything that will help distract from this painful scene.

You look back, positive that he is almost finished the race. NOPE! So again, you look away, attempt to make small talk with the people around you. Finally, the kid closes in on the finish line. Again the cries of cheers fill the stands as people celebrate this kid's determination, but mostly are cheering that the awkwardness is over.

GusGus is that kid. GusGus worked so hard towards escaping that even Lila found little appeal in hunting him and instead, she stopped, stood next to me, and together we watched him escape.

That''s right, even Lila thinks chasing GusGus is a joke. It wouldn't be a chase so much as a walk over and stand next to him while he wobbles slowly on the floor.


My friend, Tana also lives in the apartments. She doesn't have a single mouse. Why? Because she has TWO cats.

I need to borrow these cats, but I am not sure for how long. I'm guessing the mice would quickly learn of our feline residents, but what would happen when the cats leave?

I'm sure the mice would eventually venture out again, risking their tiny critter lives. I assume once the smell of cat wore off they would return. SO, what if I took some cat hair and placed strategically in corners frequented by my mice? I think that is a brilliant idea.

Although, I have to obtain cat hair. I am not sure how to go about this process. Cats are not usually the biggest snugglers. It is also VERY DIFFICULT to reason with a cat. At least when it comes to Lila, I can say, "Lila" in a very serious tone with my attempt at a deep voice, and she immediately rolls over.

If I say a cat's name in a serious tone, the cat completely ignores me. Cats are so sassy. I can see it playing out like this:

Once I unsuccessfully attempt to reason with the cat into giving me it's cat hair, I will rely on catching the cat. I can already imagine my endless hours of me chasing a slinky, maneuverable cat around the house. Cats possess the ability to leap from refrigerators, dart into tiny spaces, and jump onto counters, knocking over anything and EVERYTHING in their path.

That is rude, cats. You knock over things, break things, and don't even bat an eye lash. A cat will knock over a vase, watch it shatter into a million pieces, then look at you with it's cat-ferocity as if saying, "What." Not, "What?' No, that would imply the cat was confused by their actions. No, cats know exactly what they did and they don't care. They are the honey badgers of the domesticated animal world.


Meanwhile, I chase the cat and given my determination to catch the cat, as by that point I'd challenge myself to catch the cat, I plow through any object in my way. As a former soccer goalie, diving onto the sofa or even the floor in a vain attempt to grab the cat surely results in a few broken household items along with some injured body part.

But I put injury aside. When it comes to a challenge, as I've said many times before, this is my life -

 

Although, usually I am the one issuing the challenge to myself.

By this point, exhaustion is sure to set in. I fall to the ground. The cat glares at me. I crawl towards the cat, saying, "it's ok" over and over again. The cat lets me come near enough and I snatch her by the leg. I've made her a girl cat. 

She smacks me in the face, claws extended. Her sharp swipe tears through my skin. Blood drips down my face. I release her leg and wince as I wipe my forehead, covering my hand in drops of blood.

The cat retreats to a tiny nook, possibly under a bed, in the dead center where my arms are unable to reach. But of course, I still try, laying down on my belly, shuffling my body, underneath the frame of my bed. At this  point, I realize I am stuck. There is nothing left for me to do, but try and grab the cat.

As I extend my fingers towards the hostile scratcher, she hisses, a warning that I need to back off. Too bad I am stuck and unable to back off. I stop trying to grab her and instead we stare at each other. Her, hissing, me, frustrated. My continuous wiggling proves useful as I back out from underneath the bed. Of course, I manage to hit my head as I break free. Poor brain. It deals with so much.

"Fine! You win!" I call out to the cat as I leave the room. I approach the spot where I managed to grab her leg, and lo and behold, there is a tuft of cat fur. CHALLENGE COMPLETED!

I grab it and shout out in victory, completely oblivious of my open wound's determination to bleed. I plop down on the sofa, victorious.

And with my luck AFTER all of this subsides, Joey returns home from wherever he is. Because of course, he isn't there when I am having INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES. 

He will look at the dried blood on my face and ask what happened. All I will say is "THE CAT."

Knowing Joey, his response will be along the lines of, "soooo, we still have mice."

"Go ask GusGus" I will respond. "Oh, and don't go in the bedroom, there is a very angry cat under the bed. I'm not sure how to make her leave."

Yes, I can very easily see this playing out - how? Because something VERY similar has happened before. I was left wounded by an angry cat who didn't want to play. She managed to cut open my forehead with her claws. Lovely cat.

Therefore, I guess we are stuck with the mice until the exterminator shows. 








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