Mouse in the House
Is there one in yours too?
Cute he is. Little brown, smug. It is a mouse. A mouse in my house. How did you get here little guy? How did you find your way into my life? And now that you are here, what are you doing on my couch?
Yes, you little brown mouse. Why do you sit there next to me, on the couch back, looking at me so? Do you want me to change the channel? Tired of this movie, eh? Or maybe you’re done reading this week’s Savage Love article in the Washington City Paper. Do you want me to turn the page? How about some cheese? I’ve heard mice like cheese.
Still, when you’re done, ya gotta go. Yes, I know you are cute. Damn cute, really, a harmless little brown mouse. Problem is, you are not alone. There is a mom and dad somewhere, and more siblings that you’ll multiply with.
One mouse is cute, two is a problem. Not only for me, either. See, I do not live alone. Nor do I live in a vacuum. My housemate, he will not be so nice. And visitors, the lady-folk kind, they don’t like mice so much. I hear screaming, I see running, I feel desertion if they see a mouse in my house.
Go my mammalian friend, scurry back into the wall. Be gone, safe from here. Stay gone too. I will patch that hole with a metal plate to make sure. Don’t come back either. I will not be so nice next time. Maybe traps, maybe poison, maybe a snake. It will not be pretty for you. Nope, not pretty at all.
And you are quite pretty, cute really, all fuzzy, tiny and brown. Yes, I see you preening, see you strutting, you know you are hot. Now be not, mouse in my house.