Mouse Coroner

I'm a grown woman. Independently minded.  Early 30s. Engaged to be married.  Good job.  Eat healthy food.  Work out regularly. Awesome family, of both the born into and chosen varieties.

This actually happened.

Background Note:  I have historically had some problems with anxiety and panic.  Being alone at night heightens those sensations.

Recently, My Love was out of town on business.  I was having a surprisingly relaing evening.  Early in the eveng, I had the pleasure of picking out a birthday gift for my neice, pretty bathing suits.  Followed by a visit some friends and to hang out with their newborn baby.  It's tremendously difficult to be upset when you have just snuggled a newborn.  All of that followed by a dash to the grocery store to buy fresh produce and super cheap 12-packs of Diet Coke (score!). 

Back at home, I nestled into the couch to watch the season finale of Once Upon a Time with a bowl of Butter Pecan ice cream.  Ahhh....rest.  Breathing easy and actually enjoying my time alone, I finished up the evening with a phone call to My Love to whisper sweet nothings and say goodnight.  I felt peaceful and full and grateful for all the good in my life.

Just after I hung up the phone, I wanted to check my email one more time before heading up.  I hear the cats, Lula and Annie playing.  This is a totally common occurence in our house.  It starts out with some simple batting at each other and usually ends with one of them hissing and one of them running upstairs.  No big deal. 

Tonight was extra fun kitty playtime because of the four 12-packs of Diet Coke stacked near the kitchen door.  Lula LOVES boxes.  Full or empty, makes no difference.  If it's a box, she's going to sit on it and play queen of the mountain.  Earlier, I swiped a Caffeine-Free Diet Coke, so one of the boxes was open on one end.  This made Lula's day, becuase this means there is a place for her to stick her little paw and play with the cans. 

I made my standard rounds of email, Facebook, etc...Crash! Bang!  Kitties scatter.  I roll my eyes and chuckle, "Did we get scared of the soda boxes, kitties?"

Lula is crouching in the middle of the room, looking scared...wait, not scared but triumphant.  Panic sets in.  Oh god, please tell me that's a hair tie sticking out of her mouth. No such luck, that's a tail. 

Next I do what any logical independently minded grown woman in her early 30s would do, I grab my phone and stand on the furniture and start yelling at the cat to "drop it".

My mind is racing.  My Love isn't going to be home for 2 more days, I can't stay here that long.  That Coke is going to cause a peeing issue sooner than later and eventually I'll need a snack.   Shit.  Shit! Ok, calm down.  What is the next most logical thing to do? 

Get off the chair and get a broom and a dust pan.  That's what My Love does when he's home. I know it.  I always see him grab the broom and the dust pan as I'm running up the stairs to go hide in our bedroom until it's over.  

Shit.  What does he do with thes things?  I might as well have a chain saw and dental floss in my hands.  It's clear at this point that I have no real plan.  Instinct sets in, don't let anything die.  Clearly, my job is now to save the baby mouse from the evil kitty agressors.  In order to do that, I have to get the cats away from tehe mouse.  Now, I'm using the broom to chase the cats away from this poor little slober covered mouse.   Great idea...now what?  Oh yes, when in doubt, call the man  (my foremothers are rolling over in their graves).  I fully expect Gloria Steinem to show up at my door and slap me at any given moment.

My Love: "Babe?  What's the matter?"
Bold Brave Well Adjusted 30-something (BBWA30s): "They have a mouse!"
My Love:  "Ok.  Get the broom and the dust pan."
BBWA30s:  "I did that!  Now, I'm chasing the cats and the mouse!"
My Love: "You have 2 choices.  Use the broom and the dust pan to capture the live mouse.  Or, wait until the morning and pick up the dead one. I'm going to stay  on the phone while you try to get it."
BBWA30s: "AHHCK!!!  Now it's hiding under the vaccuum cleaner...sniffle."
My Love: "Sweetheart, why are you sobbing?"
BBWA30s: "I don't want it to die."
My Love: "It's hiding now.  Go to bed.  Lock the door, in case the cats try to bring it to you as a trophy.  It might just hide long enough to get away."

Feeling torn and unreasonably upset, I slink off to bed.  Feeling like a coward for not saving the mouse.  All I can think of is the poor baby mouse dying a slow terrifying death with psycopaths, Lula and Annie stalking it. 

Laying in bed, my mood lightens tremendously when I realize that I'm not afraid of being alone anymore.  That's so strange.  Normally when I'm alone, I lay in bed trying not to be scared of the home invasion scenarios running through my head.  After much internal debate, I normaly end up sleeping with the bedroom door open running with the (oh-so logical) theory that I'll hear an intruder and react faster if the door is open.  Tonight, I could care less about intruders.  I'm much more concerned with the baby mouse.

In the morning, I awoke to find my sweet Lula curled up outside my door. She looks peaceful and precious, not at all like the evil murderer I saw last night.  She's clearly annoyed that she was locked out, but equally grateful that I finally emerged to scratch her ears.   I get ready for work upstairs, knowing the job that awaits.    With a heavy heart, I trudge down the stairs.  Lula eagerly races ahead down the stairs to show me where she left my trophy.  At the moment, I'm grateful she didn't bring it upstairs.

I grab the broom and the dust pan.  This time I know exactly what to do.  I assume the role I vowed never to play; Mouse Coroner.

Subject: Furry baby mouse
Time of Death: Sometime between 11:30 PM and 8 AM. 
Cause of Death: Likely cardiac arrest caused by ...gulp...torture.
Case status: CLOSED