Larry left me again. Until Thursday, anyway. Maybe it's because I woke him up on New Year's night to announce that I heard a mouse in our bedroom.
Let's dwell on that for a minute:
IN OUR BEDROOM
Unfortunately, we had just hosted our New Year's Day party for the neighborhood. Meaning, almost every single thing we own had been thrown into our bedroom in our typical pre-party cleaning frenzy. It's like sleeping in the attic, only less cozy. So! The odds of our finding the errant rodent amidst that clutter were practically nil. Needle in a haystack and all that - although it was a very noisy needle, I must say.
Not that Larry didn't give it the old college try, mind you. He jumped out of bed (but only after ascertaining that that rustling-paper sound was not merely a figment of my imagination), flicked on the overhead light and commenced crawling around our piles of junk in a futile effort to locate noisy old Mickey. Considering he was wearing only underwear, this would have been a photo-worthy moment; but the camera was downstairs, and the mouse lay somewhere between me and the bedroom door. A Pulitzer-Prize winning opportunity lost, I'm telling you...
He didn't find it. So, being male, Larry shrugged his shoulders, turned off the light, and went back to bed. Within minutes, he was snoring soundly while I lay wide awake, calculating the odds of my tripping over the mouse as I dashed out the bedroom door to the (theoretically) rodent-free safety of our living room couch.
|This is Larry, only he didn't have any doughnuts.|
Reader, I risked it. I ran all the way downstairs, where I belatedly realized I needed a blanket. I made a lot of noise going back to the bedroom and grabbing that blanket, though, just to let Larry know he had no right to be happily a-slumber while I was forced to evacuate (twice!) our rodent-ridden room. Actually, I think I took his
blanket. It felt like the right thing to do.
[Mouse photo credit: mus-musculus.com]
[Homer Simpson image: the jailbreak.com]