Freya caught her first mouse… in the house about 20 minutes ago. Like I’m going back to sleep now!
**UPDATE**
I tried going back to bed after I posted but I couldn’t sleep. I’m proud of Freya for catching the mouse (and VERY unnerved that it was in the house) but I wish it hadn’t been at 6:15 when I had only been able to get to sleep 3 hours earlier.
The story: I had been woken up by some loud growling and mewing. I figured that Freya was being obnoxious and attacking her siblings, so I yelled to Jon to break up the cat fight. He came in holding Freya who had something dangling from her mouth and told me that she had a mouse. My response was “So?” as I thought it was a catnip mouse. Jon then informed me that it was a real mouse, which made me flatten myself against the wall and start screaming. Jon extracated it from Freya’s mouth and tossed it in the garage. We then sprayed the carpet where he had dropped it and washed hands and arms with lots of soap and hot water. It was a pretty good sized mouse too — it would be the equivalent of me trying to swallow a pheasant whole.
God willing, it’s the only mouse we have in the house…
Reminds me of my frist night at Summit Lake Bible Camp as a counselor (age 19). It was orientation, so no kiddies. Just me and a 14 year old Jr.Counselor from the heart of D.C.
I turn out the lights, it’s just me and the kid … and something else … something stirring in the trash can. Well, it’s actually a 2″ tall empty pool chlorine canister w/a 13 gallon plastic liner.
I turn on the light. Now the stirring is getting faster. I look at the Jr. Counselor … he’s back flat to the wall of the cabin … oh and he’s up on upper-bed of the old squeeky military surplus bunk bed.
Obviously it’s my job.
We’re in the woods, on the side of a mountain, near the Mason-Dixon line. Copperheads, Opossums, and Raccoons come to mind. So I peer into the can … s-l-o-w-l-y.
I jump back startled as a rather large mouse happens to time a jump for freedom about the same time my head peers into the can.
To his demise, he is unsuccessful. So I grab the can to move it outside, only he jumps towards my hand. I try a second time, he jumps a second time.
Now I see he’s hung-up in the bag, which means I’m going to have to reach in there and release him.
I wish I could say I was brave … but I chickend out and introduced him to the business end of a vertically held 2×4.
I made the kid bury the remains.
We used to put a stick in the firebucket at camp so that critters wouldn’t drown. For some reason, I was the one who got to empty the bucket when there was a dead mouse in it. The bloated ones don’t freak me out — it’s the ones who are IN MY HOUSE and being swallowed whole by a cat who is not much bigger than the creature she is trying to consume.
ick ick ICK ICK ICK EW!
*shivers and hides*
my parents’ dog, Buffy, does something similar. she’s brought in two baby birds, and the first week Mike and I were back in Colorado, she brought in a mouse. they were all alive when she brought them in – she’s an unnaturally gentle dog. the mouse died soon afterward because it was just too young, I think, but it was not something I was expecting and so I kind of squealed a lot.
Here’s one I entirely forgot about.
I’m ambivalent towards cats. Don’t hate them, but don’t love’m either. I guess this confuses them because when I take walks with my wife, they literally thrown themselves at my feet.
I might pet’m if I’m in the mood, otherwise, move outta the way as they shamelessly roll on the ground groveling to get petted.
One little “spotted” guy I stroked decided to follow my wife and I home. We went in the house, didn’t think much of it. Next thing I know, I hear all sorts of meowing outside.
It’s “spot.” He’s got a present for me. A mole from out of the backyard.
That earned him some milk and a few more strokes.
Awwwwwww… Dean, you’re turning into a softie. 😛