I’m pissed at this mouse. I am. As pissed as a person can be at a rodent.
My husband and I are getting ready to go out for a Date Day. A rare opportunity for some out-of-the-house alone time. I’m excited about this. I love me some Husband.
As we’re getting ready to leave, I go out to our (attached) garage to ask him a quick question. I’m out there but 15 seconds before my eyes light upon a strange dark something on the floor of our (attached-to-our-house) garage. Something I know for sure wasn’t there just 12 hours ago.
How do I know? Because I’m forever scanning the floors around me and leaning over to pick up fuzz, sticker remnants, whatever. It’s a terrible quirk of my personality and I can’t turn it off. (I then put this fuzz/sticker, etc into my pocket for eventual disposal. Why is it better for it to be in my pocket than on my floor? No idea. It’s best not to overthink it.)
I quickly go over to examine said item. I just as quickly recognize that this item, and it’s nearby friends, are mouse droppings.
I’m sorry? What? Mouse droppings? In our tidy, vacuumed-every-week garage? The one that has a door that is ATTACHED TO MY HOUSE? The door that my children are all completely incapable of shutting behind them?
I’m beside myself. All I can think is that the mice have infiltrated our home. My sanctuary. My neat, tightly-controlled fortress against dirt and rodentia. And the mouse became “mice” because, clearly, there are now several of them and they are humping as we speak, inside the walls of our home, mulitplying simply to drive me insane.
You’ll understand what happened next.
I could no longer happily contemplate Date Day. Uh uh.
Now I was on a mission to ascertain exactly how many mouse droppings there were, and where this damn rodent gained entrance. I was on hands and knees for a half hour, in the garage and then in our house, combing every corner for further evidence of the beasts.
Now, I have to tell you that we only found the one small pile of evidence I’d initially seen and we cleaned that up immediately. We also realized the rain probably drove the mouse in under the door to the side of the house and we have taken steps to block that hole now. And we haven’t seen any mouse droppings since.
But still… Date Day was ruined. RUINED! We went, but I was constantly thinking of the possible mouse invasion and also, trying to hide that I was thinking of the mouse invasion. See, my husband, though he totally understands my natural, uncontrollable Penelope-ness, also is a “we’ve done what we can, let’s leave it alone now” kind of guy.
And how I envy that. God. I envy that clear-headed rationality so much.
I heard recently of a lady who found mouse droppings in her desk drawer. Not only was she not freaked out about it, she didn’t even clean it up, just “Huh. Whatever. Moving on.”
The glorious abandon.
Not that I want to be a person who’d find mouse droppings and not clean them up immediately. That’s not it.
But to be the kind of person who could just not care about that kind of thing? To just be able to move on and think about other things, instead of obsessing about what might happen next? Who doesn’t constantly play out the Worst Case Scenario about Ev. Er. Y. Thing?
Bliss. Gotta be.