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?
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. 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