A hair-raising tale

Periodically we are awakened by nocturnal noises that we have assumed were coming from the walls, or maybe the attic, although the Hero expressed hopefulness that perhaps we were just hearing the neighbors. But unless our neighbors had developed an uncontrollable urge to scratch something in the middle of the night, the signs pointed more toward four-footed creatures.

The Hero grumbled about having to go up in the attic, which is scary and which he does only under duress, like when the Princess insists that yes, the Christmas tree NEEDS to go back in the attic TODAY. Because it is APRIL.

But in further proof that procrastinating sometimes does pay off, before he could make the dreaded trip through the little hole in the ceiling, I reached under the bed for the container where the heating pad lives. I stared at what had formerly been the contents of the heating pad -- wheat kernels -- strewn all over the container, along with other little pellets that had definitely NOT been part of the heating pad.

"Good news," I yelled to the Hero. "You don't have to climb up in the attic to find the mouse. It's been right here under the bed."

We made a thorough search for every nook and cranny that the mouse could possibly be using to enter and exit the room, and blocked them as much as we could with heavy books, towels, laundry baskets, duct tape, old ties and socks, etc. When we were finished, we were so well barricaded we could have held off Attila the Hun.

"Um," I said, looking around, "where do you think the bed is?"

Okay, maybe TOO well barricaded.

We wondered what the mouse would do when he found out his free lunch was off the menu -- that indeed, the cafe was closed.

He KNEW his meal was somewhere in our room, and that night, when his usual way of getting in proved to be a dead end, he simply switched to a new path and started scratching. Perhaps we had an ex-laboratory mouse, used to mazes and blocked exits.

We yelled at the mouse, but in a whisper so as not to disturb the neighbors, and stomped quietly in the areas where he seemed to be attempting to break through our barricades.

This would cause the mouse to be quiet for a while, and just when we'd fallen back to sleep, he would start up again. This went on all night. By morning -- which, fortunately, was Saturday -- we were exhausted. But also triumphant. Our position had held! We had not been invaded. True, our nerves were torn to shreds, and we staggered around like zombies the whole day, and dropped into bed at an embarrassingly early hour that night. The Hero set out traps and sonic machines and everything else Home Depot has to offer, but on successive nights there were no further noises. And nothing in the traps.

Best of all, there was no need for the Hero to climb into the attic. He's safe, at least until December.