A few days ago I heard a blood-curdling shriek from Someone emanating from the east wing of the house. I ran to investigate.  Had he cut himself while chopping the parsnips?* Rather he had seen a mouse running across the kitchen floor. We’ve had crickets, countless scorpions, and even the occasional stray bird that has flown in but never a rodent. I was surprised a mouse could survive in the Sonora desert what with all the hawks, owls, and coyotes, but there it was – or at least reported. 

Perhaps WCS‘s mouse emigrated to the USA Southwest. So much for The Rotten Orange and his silly wall. 

It is curious what makes us anxious. I was not at all perturbed. I grew up with three brothers who among them had countless gerbils that were forever escaping their cages.** This morning while ironing the Spo-shirts I too spotted wee-mousie that wasn’t at all that ‘wee’. Indeed it was rawther large and avoirdupois. There is a part of me that thinks if el raton has the successful temerity to get in than it can jolly well stay. Perhaps it can play the role of “Santa Mouse”. This approach has been shot down and the general consensus at La Casa de Spo is to be rid of it ASAP before the place resembles The Ministry of tourism at Tewkesbury. Today we are off to Casa de Depot to buy us a mousetrap. 

We haven’t determined which sort of mousetrap to purchase. The traditional cheese-baited snap-trap type is gruesome but at least it settles the matter.  The other option is one of those ‘humane’ traps although this means someone (probably not Someone) has to carry the creature outside and release it while saying a prayer it won’t just make a beeline back into the house. 

We (meaning I) need to be more mindful at keeping the screen doors tightly shut (poor Harper!) and the floors better swept for crumbs and bits of dog food. Perhaps we could get a cat. When I lived in Chicago I had a couple of cats A.K.A The Mouse Police. They regularly brought me dead mice, proud of their industry.  It was a bit creepy but sweet.

As I write this I can hear a faint scurrying sound emanating from the kitchen and it is not Someone.  I am off to locate a trap. 

Santa Mouse, your days are numbered. Sooner I’d eat mice at Phoenix than live with this hypervigilence. 

*I should have known better. We have no parsnips – or any root vegetables for that matter, worse luck.  

**The gerbils, not the brothers.