Two years ago, after spending 6 months planning our daughter’s wedding, the day after ‘the big day’, all I wanted was to take a long uninterrupted nap. Doesn’t seem like a lot to ask, considering everything the mother of the bride goes through, right?
So with my husband at work, and our other 2 daughters under strict orders to leave me alone, I'd no sooner dozed off, when the teenager tapped me awake and said, "There's something moving in my tote bag." In that moment of exhaustion, this did not seem justifiable to waking me up. So I said, "Put the tote bag in the garage." A few minutes later, I was awakened by her whisper in my ear, "It's loose in my room."
And with that, she had my full attention.
It would appear that we inadvertently brought the church mouse home after the wedding. But church mouse or not, nobody was going to sleep till the thing was dead, so we armed ourselves for war. Me with a broom, the teen with a mop, and both of us clunking around in pairs of my husband’s gigantic shoes, because they seemed safer than our size 8's that might leave us vulnerable to an attack from the enemy.
We closed ourselves inside her bedroom, leaving the 7 year old safely in the hallway, and the hunt began. Poke something, watch for movement, prepare to scream. Repeat.
This went on until we found ourselves facing the open closet where long dresses hung on a low bar, their material draped on the floor. Using the end of my broom, I pulled the dresses to the side, he dashed out of the closet, and before I could react, we watched him squeeze under the crack of the bedroom door and into the hallway where the 7 year olds screams joined ours. And then we all screamed and screamed and screamed until we finally stopped screaming.
Three females should never be left alone in a house with mouse.
I whipped open the door, saw him trying to squeeze under the bathroom door, so I started swatting at him, screaming again...and maybe peeing a little...as my youngest ran downstairs locking herself in my bedroom, while my teenager stood frozen in the hallway. And then quick as a flash, the thing turned around and bolted back into her closet, thus earning him the name 'Quick Silver.'
Time to regroup. And take a pee break.
The crack under the door was clearly the problem. The obvious solution (to us) was to block the bottom of the door using 2 decorative wall hangings. They didn't completely block the crack under the door, but (in our minds) their shape, as well as the hooks protruding from the top, provided a maze that he'd have to go around and (according to us) mice suck at mazes. We closed ourselves back in the bedroom and set up our mouse-proof maze. We studied our handy work and I said, "If he beats us through that before we broom him, he deserves to be loose in our house."
From my lips to Quick Silver's ears. Gauntlet thrown.
Weapons aimed, the cycle began. Broom pulls out one dress, grab it by the hanger, and slide it to the other side. Dress by dress. We finally found him hiding under the material of a long purple dress. I went to work with my broom while Kearstin cried, "You're killing him with my birthday dress!!"
Nooooo, I was killing him in
her birthday dress. She's so dramatic.
When all movement stopped, I pulled out the birthday dress, gave it a little shake, and...nothing. So we continued pulling the dresses out one by one until we got to the very last dress. Her tutu dress. The one covered in silver sparkles. Seemed appropriate somehow. Preparing to finish his life in a puff of glitter, I pulled the dress aside, as movement by the door caught my eye, just in time to see him round the last hook of our maze and squeeze himself under the door and out into the hallway.
Damn you, Quick Silver!
Beating us at our own maze, by the time we moved it out of the way and opened the door, he was out of sight and gone to who knows where. My daughter said, "Maybe he'll eat the poison behind the fridge." Then I reminded her that our dogs had already done that and I’d recently spent an afternoon inducing dog-vomit all over our garage, but that’s a story for another time.
We were forced to wait until my husband got home and frantically filled him in on our ordeal while he wasted entirely too much time asking us ridiculous questions about why we were wearing his shoes and why we tried to create a maze instead of blocking the crack under the door with a blanket or pillow.
Easy to be the Monday morning quarterback. In the meantime, a super-savvy mouse runs amok.
Then my husband made himself dinner and went downstairs to watch tv.
Did you not hear our story, sir
That night, we heard screams from upstairs and I joined in with mine because that's what supportive parents do. My husband calmly got out of bed, grabbed a shoe and a Walmart bag, followed my daughter’s pointing finger into the bathroom, closed the door, then a minute later, exited with 'TMFKAQS' (The Mouse Formerly Known As Quick Silver), and gave us his most disappointed look and shook his head.
Obviously, we slowed him down for ya. You're welcome.