Well, I know you’ve all been breathlessly awaiting the latest instalment in the life and times of Max’s Mouseketeers, so here it is. Sadly, Operation Can-Can revealed nothing. I think the little fuckers must’ve had a tipoff, as they were nowhere to be found. :mad:
A disclaimer: it’s been a long week. I’m tired and my brain is mush. I don’t think this post is half as funny as the others, but it represents closure for me 
Yesterday morning, I woke up with my stomach cramping. Damn evil KFC from the night before was making its presence felt. MaxBabe had already gone to work, so she didn’t get to enjoy the particularly seedy aromas coming from my arse. There’s nothing like a really big, stinky fart to relieve KFC-induced pain. But I digress. Despite my stomach’s complaints, I was hungry. I went to the kitchen and smiled smugly at the pantry. Since Son Of Mickey, MaxBabe and I have purchased many tupperware containers. The entirety of the food content in the pantry is now encased in plastic, and the mice had decided there was nothing left for them to eat. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen any droppings in the pantry. So it was with some horror that I pulled out the Bucket O’ Cornflakes to discover two fresh mouse turds on top of it.
I’ll admit, I must’ve used up all my ire on Mickey and Son Of Mickey, because the best I could generate was a resigned groan, and some eye-rolling. Not my best work. Once again, I got out the traps and loaded them up with peanut butter. On top of each dollop of peanut butter, I stuck a cornflake. I could appreciate the irony in that. I hoped that Mickey III would too. Having wasted my morning fucking around with mousey death devices, I was out of time for breakfast, so into the car I got, and trundled off to work.
I came home from work early yesterday. I’d been feeling a bit… umm… gastrically challenged… so felt it best to take my leave. MaxBabe wasn’t home yet, but I recalled she’d invited a friend over for coffee. Seeing the house covered in hair from the MaxMutts, I decided it was best that I vacuum. MaxBabe arrived a few moments later and went to have a nap. I went about my vacuuming (she can sleep through ANYTHING!), and lo, the carpet was good.
She woke up shortly afterwards, and headed out to her acupuncture appointment. “Don’t forget Sue’s coming over!” she hollered as she left. “Yes, honey!”, I said, reaching for the Toilet Duck. A few minutes of scrubbing later, I was satisfied the bathroom was suitable for visitors, so I came back to the lounge room.
The house was peaceful. The dogs were snoozing, and MaxBabe was out of the house. It was the time I’d been waiting for… the time to open my brand new Star Trek: Voyager Series One boxed set. Nervous hands trembled as I fumbled with the plastic. I had waited a long time for this moment. I struggled briefly with the futuristic packaging before finally unsealing it… the first time is always the hardest, so they say.
I removed the first DVD from its case and put it in the player. I laid back on the couch, tucked myself under a blanket and started watching it. Now, as much as I am a fan of Voyager, I had never before seen the first series, so my attention was fully focussed on the sounds and images before me. Sometime during the middle of the first episode, MaxBabe called. “Sue’s called me and she’s on her way, but I haven’t left the acupuncturist yet. She’ll probably get there before me, ok?”. “No worries, babe!”, said I, keen to keep the conversation brief. After all, Janeway and her away team had just been captured and I didn’t want to miss a moment of it!
Still, I took the opportunity to press Pause, and I put the MaxMutts into the bedroom. It’s never good manners to have excited dogs jumping all over visitors.
I sat down again, keen to resume. I was ready to hit Play when I saw it. Mickey III. He wandered out from behind the TV cabinet, and walked along the sideboards towards the bedrooms. Mickey III was obviously pretty focussed on things himself, because he didn’t see me. I got up, slowly, and walked towards him. I had visions of smashing him to a pulp, but I had nothing with which to smash him. The first thought that came to mind was to use a tennis racquet, but strangely enough I don’t have one sitting around in the lounge room. Next best thing - the Splatterer Of All Small Creatures: my shoe.
Mickey III turned into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I switched on the kitchen light, but it barely shed light on the subject. Further, Mickey III was hiding behind the hallway door. Holding the door open was a makeshift doorstop, one of MaxBabe’s shoes. It blocked his egress from the other side of the door, so I knew where he was. Yet, I couldn’t see him. Dammit! I backed slowly away, keeping an eye on the doorjamb. I knew he could make a break for the pantry at any time. And if he did that, once again he would get away from me, as had his predecessors. Little fuckers.
I backed up to the kitchen drawers, then opened the second one. Never once did my eye leave the doorjamb. I knew where he was. He knew I knew where he was, and he wasn’t taking any chances. I pulled my little maglite torch out, and switched it on.
I crouched down near the doorjamb and shone the torch into it. Damn my crappy eyesight, I couldn’t see dick. Just as I was crouched there, Sue arrived. “Hello!” she hollered from the front door. I don’t know what she must’ve thought to see me there, in my trackydacks, torch shining into a tiny crack, holding a shoe with my arm drawn back.
Whatever she must’ve thought, she figured out what was going on pretty quickly. “What are we killing?”, she asked, sounding a little excited about it all. “A mouse!” I exclaimed.
Suddenly, she wasn’t so excited anymore. “A mouse! You can’t kill a mouse!”, and so followed the obligatory expressions of how cute mice are. Look, you might think mice are cute, and you’re right. They’re small, furry, and scurry around as all small, furry mammals do. However they also eat everything in sight and crap everywhere. These two facts alone negate any cuteness that might otherwise be inherent. I wasn’t prepared to debate the matter with her. “Look”, I said, “you either help me out here or you sit down and shut up!”. Just as well Sue knows I meant it in the nicest possible way.
She chose the first option. I guess she wanted to see just how I might go about this task.
Once again, I crouched down, shoe at the ready. Security guard training years before had taught me how to hold a torch and a weapon at the same time, so I assumed the position. I crept slowly around the entrance of the hallway, and shone the light down. Somehow, Mickey III wasn’t really bothered by this. But he knew it was time to move. So instead of going back to the kitchen, Mickey III made the decision that would lead to his demise. You see, mice are very quick on linoleum. On carpet, however, it’s another story. Finally, Mickey III and I were on equal footing.
He climbed over MaxBabe’s shoe and into the hallway. He thought briefly about heading under the door that leads to our bedroom. Therein, the MaxMutts would’ve had a field day with him! Mickey III sniffed at the door, then thought better of it. So he continued on into the spare bedroom.
Now, the spare bedroom is where MaxBabe keeps a lot of her stuff. Clothes, travel bags, shoes etc. It also has only one entry/exit point. Mickey III didn’t know it, but he’d made a fatal mistake. “Right!” I yelled, “You’re fucked!”. As I switched the light on, my heart was pounding, and all I could think was that I’d better get this RIGHT! The last thing I wanted was for Mickey III to hide in all of MaxBabe’s stuff. He hid inside one of her shoes. Not a good move, mouse. You clearly don’t know how much MaxBabe hates you and your verminous cousins.
I, however, do. So when Mickey III made a break for it, I was ready. I threw my shoe at him, and vermin and footwear collided. The shoe bounced in one direction, and Mickey III was thrown into the air. He performed a triple somersault with pike, with a difficulty level of 7.8. He landed on his back and blinked, his little legs twitching. Frankly, if it weren’t for the shoddy dismount, I would’ve given him a 9.8.
Mickey III was down for the count, but clearly not dead. And I had a dilemma. As much as I wanted to nail Mickey III and send him to Mousey Hell, I did not want to squish him on carpet. Mouse blood and carpet are not a good combination, especially when said carpet is in MaxBabe’s room.
Sue exclaimed, “Don’t kill it! It’s not dead!”. Well, duh. Before I had a chance to do anything, she picked Mickey III up by the tail, and said “Where do you want him?”. “In the bin! The wheelie bin!”. So outside we went, and she tossed his stunned, but not lifeless, body into the bin. We figure if he survives, he’ll have a great time in there, until next bin collection day, whereupon he will be transported to the local municipal dump. And there, he will find plenty of brethren with which to share his war story. Who knows, he might even get a medal for his efforts.
Meanwhile, I was stoked! I couldn’t wait to tell MaxBabe! Sue couldn’t believe it. She appeared disgusted by my actions, and couldn’t believe I’d want to brag about it. I think she half expected me to do a war dance in the middle of the lounge room to celebrate the demise of Mickey III. I might well have too, had MaxBabe not arrived home when she did. They did the obligatory hellos, and in the back of my mind, I debated whether to tell MaxBabe about what had just transpired. I mean - it’s one thing to kill evil mice with a Verminator (hee hee, my name for a mouse trap). It’s another to actually <i>be</i> the instrument of death. So I started out tentatively.
“Honey, I saw Mickey III tonight. He was just THERE!”, I said, pointing wildly. Should I tell her? Should I keep it to myself? Would she think less of me for killing that mouse? Is Sue right about this? Have I no morals, no shame, no sense of what is right and wrong?
“I hope you killed the little fucker!” she exclaimed. God, I love that woman. 