Good god. Okay, so if this week wasn’t bad enough, with my grandmother’s funeral and all, I got a LITTLE closer to nature than I would have liked.
So last night, I’m taking a shower before bed, when I was already staying up far later than I should, considering I had to get up super early. I brought Maggie into the bathroom with me, because she loves poking her head in the shower curtain, and batting at me, then she has to play in the tub after I get out. So I get out, and I’m drying off, combing my hair, when I see Maggie, staring at the bottom of the bathroom door. She keeps walking back and forth, very intent. So I figure one of the other cats are swatting at her from under the door, because they all like to do that to each other. And I open the door a crack, but no cats. I get ready to close the door, when this grey THING comes flying in.
What the fuck? It’s too big to be a bug, and way too small to be one of the cats. So I see it over on the edge of the tub:
A MOUSE! A GODDAMNED MOUSE!!! Now, generally, I have no problem with mice-I actually think they’re kinda cute. BUT, I do NOT like them in the house, naturally. The basement, I can handle. But not in my bathroom. And with the exception of the basement, I haven’t seen a mouse in this house in years.
Not wanting to leave Maggie alone in the bathroom with Senor Rodent, and not wanting Mister Mouse to escape, I kick Maggie out, close the door behind me, and wake up my mother. The last thing I NEED is for the mouse to get upstairs.
So we go back downstairs, and said mouse, which was last seen fleeing to the space between the shower, then the sink, is nowhere to be found. My mother and I figure hey, we’ve got six cats. I feel bad for the little critter, because, like I said, I think mice are cute, and cats tend to be really nasty when they kill their prey. But what can you do? So we go back upstairs and go to bed.
I get about maybe two hours sleep if I’m lucky. And I finally just get up at five am, figuring I’ll get in the bathroom before everyone else. I’m about to jump in the shower to wet my hair so it’ll curl, when I hear my mother yelping.
She found the mouse. It’s curled up against the laundry room baby gate (to keep the dog out of the litter boxes), dead. She can’t bring herself to pick it up, even with plastic bags, and neither can I. So since my dad’s going to get up soon, we just wait for him. Oh well. As I said to my mom, at least she didn’t find him a week later, under the sofa. Yuck.
So we go to the funeral home, and then to the church. The whole funeral is absolutely beautiful. Big, because we have a large family, and because my grandmother was very involved in the church, especially the St. Vincent dePaul food bank. My sister cantors, sings two solos, does an absolutely gorgeous job. (My cousin and his fiancee officially asked her to sing at their wedding next year). Then we go to the firehall for the wake. I won’t say we had a “good time”, because, well, you really can’t, but it was good to be with family. We joke around, reminsce about my grandmother, talk about how she and my aunt Gigi (her daughter) are up there, working their way through the cartoon of ciggies we packed with her in the casket, as they catch up with one another.
Then we come home, and change, and my dad plans on taking the dog for a long walk at the local park. He normally takes her everyday, but he hasn’t been able to lately, obviously. So my sister and I decide to tag along-it’s a gorgeous day, and I’ve been meaning to get more exercise. That and it’s probably not good for him to be alone right now. We get in the van he uses from work, and I sit in the back on the floor-there’s no seats, because the casket frame is back there, duh. And earlier, on the way home from the funeral, I had accidentally knocked over a flower basket we were bringing home, and spilled the water. And I sat down RIGHT in that area. My backside was totally soaked. Ugh! Well, it’ll dry off-it’s a sunny day, and we’re going to be walking. We get out, the dog’s excited, we’re talking and having a good time.
Now we’re getting up the hill, and going under the trees and on the path back to the old mansion (the park used to be a family estate back in the '20s). And just over the bridge, I see something dark on the road. As I’m getting closer, it’s just registering in my mind when my dad speaks up, “Well, now, let’s just turn around, it’s all right, we’re just going to go back.”
SNAKE!!! BIG MOTHERFUCKING HUGE ASS BLACK SNAKE!!!
Have I mentioned I’m insanely ophidiophobic, so much so that I make Indiana Jones look like Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter? I scream, start panicking, and just turn around and go streaking down the hill. My sister’s freaked of snakes too, not as much as I am, but pretty bad. Then, if that’s not bad enough, on the edge of the bridge, I see what was either a very tiny little snake or a huge ass worm slithering it’s way off of the bridge. Dad claims it was a worm. But do worms zig-zag like that?
I’m freaked. Completely panicking, crying, probably about to start hyperventilating. That was the LAST thing I needed on this fucking day. So my ass is wet, I saw one, possibly TWO snakes, and the dead mouse this morning.
Basically, I have come to two conclusions:
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I am NEVER going to that park AGAIN, at least until October, or when I can see my freaking breath and the leaves are brown.
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If I see so much as a MOTH, I’m taking a powder.
(I appologize for the long post, I’ve just had a very long and stressful weekend, obviously)
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