This morning started out productive enough. I woke up early, at 4:30 am, in full domestic mode. By 5:30 I had chicken baking in the oven and stuffed peppers simmering in the crock pot, the dishwasher was loaded and running, and I was working on a second load of laundry. Satisfied that I was using enough electricity to power a small orbiting space station, I headed into the bathroom to get my shower. And that's when I saw it.
"BLAIR!" I screamed, my emergency broadcast system in full mode. "BLAIR! BLAIR! BLAIR!"
He came bursting into the bathroom, sure someone was murdering me. "WHAT?! WHAT?!"
"There." I pointed at his half of our duel sinks, even as I shuddered and took a step back.
Curled up in the bottom of the sink was a small and (okay, I'll admit it) pretty cute little mouse. My screaming hadn't perturbed him in the least. He looked cozy, like he was curling up for a nap.
"Hey, little fella," said Blair, moving toward him.
"Don't touch it!" I said. "Get a cup."
I stood guard over the mouse while Blair went to get a cup to scoop him up with. "Oh my God, he has to have been on the counter," I said. "Do you think he touched our toothbrushes?"
"Probably," said Blair. "Mice love tartar-control. Yum-yum-yum."
"You're not helping," I said. I watched as Blair moved toward him. "Wait!"
"I want to get a picture for the blog."
"So everyone can comment on our hygiene habits?" asked Blair. "Nice."
"It's not our fault we live in an older home," I said. I looked at Lucy as I walked by to get the camera. "And just what's the point of having you around?" I asked. "Where was my backup?" She shrugged and meandered away.
I came back with the camera, Blair got the picture, then scooped mousie up and carried him out to the field behind our house. I set to work pouring every chemical solvent we had in the house onto the sink and countertops in an effort to purge any lingering mouse germs.
I handed Blair a new toothbrush when he came back inside. "I'll never mock your need to stock up on toothbrushes again," I said. "If we didn't have these, we'd be brushing our teeth with our fingers this morning."
Of course, all I can do now is wonder where the heck else that mouse was before he landed in our sink. Was he in the bathroom drawer where I keep my jewelry? In my closet? Taking a sponge bath in our shower?
"I may have to to just set fire to this part of the house and have us rebuild," I informed Blair.
"You have issues," he said, and left for work.
Left for work, leaving me alone with what could be a family of mice somewhere in here, seeking revenge for turning Junior out into the cold. But it's okay, I've got a plan. I'm just going to hang out with the cats all day.
Apparently, they give mice a wide berth.