The Last Care-Free Moment

This morning, while taking Trixie for a walk, I thought about these six things:

1. I should do laundry soon.
2. (Upon seeing a house for sale on my street) I'm so glad that I have neither the want nor the need to sell my house right now.
3. It's too bad that I have to work this evening. Looks like a nice day.
4. Which leftover should I have for lunch and which one should I pack for dinner?
5. (Upon seeing someone spraying herbicide onto a lawn) I should cancel my Terminix account. They spray my yard for ants, but I've never seen an ant attempt to enter my house. Why do I have to be so antagonistic?
6. The squirrels and chipmunks are particularly active today.

While I opened the door and freed Trixie from her harness, I thought about these six things:

1. I am never doing laundry again.
2. How soon can I sell my home?
3. I shall go to work early and stay late.
4. I'll skip lunch. The hospital cafeteria probably has something nice for dinner.
5. I must call Terminix immediately.
6. What is this? The rodent revolution?

While I was walking in, I saw a flurry of motion in my periphery and felt a chill of horror slide down my back. A mouse. Racing to the safety of the laundry room. I rushed upstairs, called Terminix, made an appointment, and paced with worry.

Sensibility returned. I felt a beige comfort sink squarely onto my shoulders. I wasn't quite sure what I had actually seen. A large bug, maybe. A fluttering brown moth. My eyes had been dazzled by sunlight and I may not have seen anything at all.

I peeked down the bannister to the half-basement. No mistake. I saw it right at the foot of the stairs, contemplating the climb. Mouse.

I had a mouse three years ago, when my relationship, or codependency, with Terminix began. It had gotten in through the dryer hookup. I looked outside and yes, there does seem to be a chunk of insulation missing. I had bought extra blocks of poison at that time for extra security, and I've still got some in the garage. I got them out (shouted and stomped for the mouse to scurry away first) and scattered them around where the mouse had been. There is no expiration date on the box. I hope there's still poison left after three years.

So, now, I am making myself as small as possible on the couch. Terminix is coming early tomorrow morning. I am hoping that I will be so busy at work that I will be too tired tonight for terror. I am hoping to come home to a dead mouse, really.

Even though I loathe my house and its woodsy surroundings right now, I am suddenly grateful for its odd layout. The main entrance is in the half-basement, which is just about as inviting as you think it is. There is a laundry/utility room down there, a closet, and a stairway to the living room. But this means that I can be on the second floor and feel relatively safe. I know that nothing is really a barrier for a rodent. But my theory is that even if it did make it from the basement to the first floor, it would find enough to entertain itself there and would have no need to explore the second floor.

I wonder what to do with Trixie tonight. She would dislike being stuck upstairs. She would be absolutely no help as a hunter. But does the mouse know this?