9/16 There's a part of me that won't go into our living room, and that part is my feet. Which is hard, for we read, watch TV, eat, and generally hang out in there.
It started a few nights ago when I walked in and thought I saw a mouse scamper under a couch, in fact, right under my usual seat. I tried to convince myself it was the permanent floater in my left eye, which sometimes feels like a mosquito flitting by. I jerked my eyes to the left to see if the floater could look like a dashing mouse. No dice. At least I was wearing shoes, not the sandals I had on when a chipmunk ran over my foot at the duck lagoon. So I went in and sat down, proud that I'm not as squeamish as I used to be.
Then came tonight. I walked into the living room, and whoosh, a mouse actually rushed across a couch, again headed towards my usual seat! Unless I have a mouse-shaped floater, there could be no doubt. I was thankful for the chair and reading light in our bedroom, and the book in my hand went upstairs with me.
I've had several other warnings recently. Adolph saw a mouse near the refrigerator last month, but we haven't seen anything since then in the kitchen. And a few days ago I noticed a large and furry creature in the garden as I was about to stick my key into the front door keyhole. A lovely black cat, though engrossed, took the time to glance at me, and there was a mouse in its mouth! I quietly unlocked the door, didn't want to scare the cat away without its prey, ran inside, and watched through a window as it played. Then it left, empty-mouthed. I haven't picked a string bean since then.
Before that two of my grandsons and I saw a mouse scurry up the foundation, run between brick and shingles, turn around, run back down, and disappear into the great outdoors.
Oh, well. I know old houses are porous, with no end to entries. I could get a life-time supply of copper mesh, fill every visible dime-sized hole, and there'd be hundreds more invisible ones. My quandary is, do I dare go barefoot in the dark, barefoot to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Or should I slip into my cozy slippers in which, who knows, a mouse might be lodged, and unable to dodge, my toes?
I see. I must put this in perspective, think of bombed, bulldozed, and flooded homes, think of the homeless, think of tents in Darfur with militia rampaging through, and what then is a paltry mouse in a house?
