There's a MOUSE in my PANTS!!!!

Okay… let me set the scene up for you.

Here in the computer room is our lovely heroine, bobkitty, happily catching up on the wonder that is the SDMB and eating an Italian Ice[sup]tm[/sup]. Which, come to think of it, I’ve always kind of wondered about. I mean, what’s so Italian about ice? Don’t they have ice pretty much everywhere? Shouldn’t it technically be ‘Eskimo Ice’ or some such? Or, if they’re really stuck on the nifty alliteration thing, then shouldn’t it be more… Italian? Italy isn’t really well-known for its lemon-growing. But I guess olive-flavor ice wouldn’t go over nearly as well…

What’s that? Get off the Rue de Day imitation thing and get on with the story? Oh. Fine.

Right. So we have our heroine eating Italian Ice and reading the boards. But hark, what is that noise? Could it be the hollering of Mr. Bobkitty? Why, yes! 'Tis! And he is bellowing for our heroine! Not that he could be bellowing for anyone else, since they’re the only two people living in the house, and Mr. Bobkitty typically bellows at the DoggieBobkitties, not for them, so unless someone has stupidly broken into the house or there is a new roommate our heroine is unaware of, then it makes sense for him to be bellowing for bobkitty.

I’M GETTING TO IT.

So, despite the obvious urgency in Mr. Bobkitty’s voice, bobkitty takes her own sweet time wandering back to the study. After all, Mr. Bobkitty is a true Son of the South, and he’s well armed. Plus, since the DoggieBobkitties aren’t begging for Italian Ice, they must be in the study, so Mr. Bobkitty is armed and dogged. No reason to hurry.

::wander::

And lo, what does our heroine come upon in the study? One Mr. Bobkitty, looking perturbed, and the Middle DoggieBobkitty, looking very pointedly at the fireplace. Well, he wasn’t actually pointing. That’s the Youngest DoggieBobkitty’s job, with him being a Pointer and all. But he’s an English Pointer, so sometimes he gets mixed up. He’s not very bright. No, Middle DoggieBobkitty was looking more excitedly at the fireplace. One step below his ‘I gotta go pee NOW’ excited look. And there’s only one thing that gets him that excited.

A mouse.

Yes, there was a mouse in the fireplace. And Middle DoggieBobkitty thinks he’s a cat. An understandable bit
of confusion, that. After all, his mom’s a human who thinks she’s a cat, and mental illness does tend to run in families. Middle DoggieBobkitty has saved the Bobkitty household a tremendous amount of money on mousetraps. He’s surprisingly quick for an 85-pound pretend-cat, and he’s always kind enough to not actually chew the mice he catches… he just… drowns them a bit, carries them around til he gets tired of keeping his mouth closed, and exchanges the sopping wet mouse corpse for a milkbone.

Yes, the exciting bit is coming up. I promise. Can you tell I’ve had a little bit to drink? :smiley:

So the HumanBobkitties decide they will trap the mouse, in a humane sort of way, and come morning let him (or her… dunno) go outside, where he (or she) will be safe from 85-pound pretend-cats who want to exchange them for milkbones. So the OlderDoggieBobkitty, who has been looking upon the proceedings with a good deal of amusement (at least his interpretation of amusement- ODB is the Eeyore of our hundred acre woods. We’ve been talking about the possibility of doggie Prozac in the very near future), and MiddleDoggieBobkitty are summarily banished from the room while bobkitty looks around for a suitable catching device. With a plastic file box in hand, the bobkitties are now set to catch their prey.

The mouse, as you can imagine, had other ideas.

It dashed out the opposite side of the fireplace (bad mouse), ran for the door, ran under the door but quickly changed its mind (hmmm… guess it was a girl mouse after all) when it noticed that MiddleDoggieBobkitty was right outside the door, still anticipating the possibility of a milkbone exchange. Our heroine had the amazingly bright idea of trying to catch the mouse with her bare hands, or at least scaring it back toward Mr. Bobkitty, who was shouting helpful instructions like “Look! There it goes!” whilst holding the plastic file box, but the mouse had other ideas.

It decided safety lay in the warm, dark cavern of our heroine’s pajama pant leg.

The next thing our heroine knew, there was a mouse rapidly trekking up her pant leg, toward some very important bits that she’d planned on using later in the evening.

The story gets a little fuzzy from here. And not just because there’s a veritable Noah’s Ark of animals involved. No, it gets fuzzy because our heroine could only think “GET IT OUT!!! GET IT OUT!!!” Much like the first time she… oh. Never mind. Different story. :wink: Clamping down on her leg to prevent any further advancement of the hostile life form, she stuck her foot into the file box and shook the little critter out. Then sat on the floor and rocked back and forth for a little while.

The mouse is happily ensconced in a cage, with shavings and food pellets and a toilet paper tube. First thing in the morning it will return to the wild, where it belongs.

MiddleDoggieBobkitty got his milkbone, because even though he didn’t actually catch the mouse, he did let us know it was there.

Mr. Bobkitty is in the shower, probably still chuckling to himself. See if HE gets any tonight. ::grumble::

And our heroine is back at the SDMB, finishing off her Italian Ice, and cursing the fact that thinksnow’s boxers were in the wash. No way the mouse could’ve gotten up her leg if she’d been wearing think’s boxers.

The end.

-BK

okay, i was fine until i got to the part about the mouse trekking up the pj pant leg, then i lost it

you owe me a new keyboard as there is now low-fat chocolate cake splorted all over it

you are just lucky it didn’t go out through my nose like the froot loops did last week

also: the mouse will come back, as they are looking for winter quarters now. Betcha.

Release it at least 5 miles away.

Or keep it and buy a water bottle and feed it dry dog food and sunflower seeds. And, bobkitty, you really can’t confuse male and female mice. http://www.geocities.com/mmoktah/Pics.html

(Can I put this link in, Mods?)

Well darn! Some people have all the luck!

Seriously Bobkitty, I have two wild mice at the moment. One is a deer mouse and the other is a field mouse. I don’t know what yours is, but if it’s a deer mouse, you better find out what the Hanta Virus situation is in your area. If there is a threat, you’d better use gloves and a mask when you clean out that cage. Inhaling the dust from the feces can cause infection and Hanta can be fatal.
That said, I’ve had mine for three years. She’s quite tame and has even done some modeling. Yes, she’s a LOT better looking than me! I actually made $40.00 for letting a photographer do some shots of her in a pumpkin and looking through a fence. Her name is Fallow. My field mouse is Shadow. He’s not nearly as tame as Fallow, but I have had field mice who were completely tame. It’s always been my experience that once an animal makes it into a cage, it’s probably there for good. Ya gotta admit, they’re cute little buggers! If it’s quite young, you have a shot at taming it. Keep in mind that if it’s an adult female it’s probably expecting. Actually, it might be fun to hand tame a litter, right from birth. Just separate the males and females at about three weeks, or you’ll have a mouse explosion! Field mice will live a couple of years and deer mice apparently can make it to eight. I know Fallow is showing no sign of age at three and a half, minimum.(I got her as an adult in June '98). I’m also raising a wild rat, Screecher, who is probably about three months old now. Fool thing fell into our bathtub when he was a baby, and couldn’t get out! I also raise several types of domestic Fancy Mice, and rats, as well as a number of other animals, besides working at the Zoo.
Good luck!
PS Any mouse questions, anybody, feel free to email me.

I’m sorry, Duck, but the guarantee on computer parts only applies to high-fat-and-calorie foods. Since it was a low-fat cake, you’re on your own for replacement. Should’ve read the fine print. :wink: And the mouse has been re-located 24 miles away, at our new house site. There it has 16 acres of our property plus another 3300 acres around us of near-pristine wilderness to find a new burrow.

Zoo… thought about keeping the little bugger, I really did. They are adorable. But Mr. Bobkitty said no, it wasn’t fair to the little critter, and we didn’t know whether it was carrying anything that would potentially be harmful to us or the pups. I had a rat, Dodger, for nearly 6 years that Mr. Bobkitty rescued from a group of billy-bob maintenance workers that were going to kill it. He was a great little guy (pshaw… little… he weighed over a pound by the time he died). Which is why we have a cage handy for such mouse emergencies. Dodger would appreciate the irony. :slight_smile:

We think that’s it, but we’re not holding our breath. It’s still pretty warm down here, so the majority of the population probably hasn’t been seeking out winter quarters.

-BK

When I first read the thread title, all I could do was sing

…Dear Liza, Dear Liza,
theres a mouse in my pa-ants,
Dear Liza, a mouse…

Imagine my delight when the thread was about an actual
MOUSE IN YOUR PANTS! I love it! Delightful!

Bobkitty, don’t feel badly when your Snow White impersonation goes horribly wrong. I, too, tried to save
a sweet cute little gray fuzzy ping pong ball mouse from the jowls of my evil kitty, only to have that little
bastard- I’m sorry- the word I meant to use was buggar-
bite the holy crap out of my hand. He was hanging on by the teeth as I ran around in circles trying to shake him loose.
I got the most DISAPPROVING look from my doctor that day…

Well, yeah, Scredle, cute doesn’t mean defenseless! One of my first wild mice was Cubby. I had made a cage of 1/2 in. mesh. When I dropped him in it, he promptly dove headfirst throught the mesh and got stuck at the hips. Now a reasonably bright person would have reached inside the cage and pulled him out by the butt, right? Nope! I tried to push him through by the face. He nailed me five times by the time I got my finget out of range! Bit like a little machine gun! I kept him a couple of years anyway, in an aquarium. We just had one stuck in the bat cage at the Zoo a couple weeks ago, but this time I knew better! I ended up having to cut the wire, because she was not only stuck at the hips, but she had turned around and got her head stuck too. It’s a wonder she didn’t break her back. I got her out and brought her home and Mr zoogirl promptly fumbled her when she ran up his hand at dinner time. He actually caught her, with a little help from Number Two Son, but alas, I woke up the nest morning to find a hole in the cage and no mouse. Oh well, I tried!

You never did repay me for that sig I gave you . . .

::running away as fast as he possibly can::

I think we all know from reading Bobkitty’s other posts she’s no stranger to unspeakable things in her pants.

Aww, Inky, that’s just plain hateful. You’re just upset 'cause I made you weasel like a little girl while hiding under your desk. I say PBBBBBBBTTTTT on you. :stuck_out_tongue: :smiley:

Punha, sweetums, c’mere… I’m feeling awfully neglected…