Of Mice and Jwi

I have been wanting to write you this post since it happened, but I knew that in order to write it, I would also have to tell you that our new and sweet little kitty, Saki, had passed away. And I didn't want to have to start out with that sad news. And I knew that if I did, I'd have to tell you that she had a rare and fatal disease that had remained hidden until we took her to get her vaccinated, but got kicked into high gear when her poor little body had to fight it and the vaccines... so we lost her. And I knew that if I told you that it would be all sad and this is supposed to be a funny post (not to mention a sort of funny blog to begin with.) And I knew that if I told all that, I'd also feel compelled to admit that losing Saki (in addition to having just lost the evil-yet-lovable Destiny the Dingocat) kind of made me feel cursed. And then I'd have to admit that I don't really believe I'm cursed because frankly, I don't think the universe is that organized. And I worried that all of that would sound sort of nutso.

So.

Put all that aside for a minute, ok?

Imagine instead this:

It's late at night. The Kid is upstairs getting ready for bed in her room, and Hubby is upstairs in our room also getting ready to start snoring. I am downstairs in a foul mood, banging away on my laptop, trying to input my midterm exams on this new oh-so-easy-it-will-make-your-life-go-much-smoother-once-you-learn-how-to-do-it computerized testing program. I'm bleary-eyed and perhaps pulling chunks of hair out of my head and muttering obscenities. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark shape wander in and sit on the wood floor next to me. Absentmindedly, I think, Oh hi Saki.

And I keep typing for a moment before a dim realization seeps through my fuzzy-headedness, That can't be Saki. Saki is gone. Then I think, and I quote, ???

I look down and to my right and sitting there, looking (in retrospect, you must understand) undeniably adorable, is a perfect specimen of a little field mouse. He's sitting on his little mouse butt, and he's holding his little mouse hands together in front of him, he's staring at me with his big brown mouse eyes, and he's even got his little mouse head cocked to one side like you might see in a cartoon.

I do what any card-carrying woman would do.

The sheer explosive volume of my shrieking shocks the little mouse, so much so that he performs what I can only describe as a rather impressive backward flip high into the air. It may have been a double. It's hard for me to say because I'm screaming, "Mouse mouse mouse!" so loudly and so forcefully that I'm starting to feel lightheaded. The mouse, utterly terrified, recovers from his backflip and runs away from me and my sound and full tilt into a wall. The force with which he hits the wall makes an audible thud (one that I can hear over my screams) and sends him tumbling back toward me. I comment on this by screaming, rather observantly, I think, "Mouse mouse mouse!"

By this time, both Hubby and The Kid have come dashing down the stairs each expecting (they told me later) to find me bleeding with an axe protruding through my skull. The Kid, for her part, finally deciphers what I'm saying, translating "Mouse mouse mouse" into the Korean equivalent "Jwi Jwi Jwi" and does what any red-blooded girl would do. She screams, "OhMYGOSH!" and runs back upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her. Hubby does what it tells him to do in the Husband Manual. He tries to catch the mouse. "Mouse mouse mouse!" I scream, while now also flapping my arms and hands at him. He retrieves a giant cup and I ascertain (not easy to do while screaming and flapping) that he means to put the cup over the mouse, then scoop the little guy up and take him outside. The mouse does not ascertain this at all, knowing only that things have become for him very loud and very chase-y. The poor little thing dodges Hubby, finds himself too close to my foghorn sound effects, and keeps plowing into every wall in the room. I narrate, "Mouse mouse mouse!" No doubt he is seeing stars by this point. I know I am.

Something desperate in my head tells me to open the front door and maybe the mouse will go out. I do and, to the astonishment of both Hubby and me, Mickey dashes out the door and into the wilds of the rainy Ohio night. I would guess he's still running. Maybe he has made it to Wisconsin by now.

If you see him, tell him hi from me.