98
R. Linda:
You'll find this stupid, and you'll tell me to get the Pee cat. You know I have been home nursing me pneumonia infested-self back to health. I've had plenty of time to sit and try to sleep me way to the blush of physical robustness, that I can in the silence, hear doors opening and closing, neighbours treading up and down the staircase, and sometimes, I can hear snatches of conversation. This be all well and good, except there is something else that I hear, almost constantly, and it is driving me insane.
Yours truly, your beloved man about the place, has had a single mouse that scurries above me in the ceiling as I sit in front of me telly drinking a good hearty Murphys. Yes, I know a beer is not good when one is taking antibiotics, but this is me, and I'm Irish so I feel entitled. Well R. Linda, it got to be annoying the scratching, the scurrying, the squeaks, the bumps, the droppings, that I, as the man of the hour, decided to trap the damn nuisance once and for all. I hauled me sniffling self up and went out but could find no snap traps, only one humane contraption. So harassed was I, I bought it, baited it, and then waited, yes I did.
And sure enough the very next morning there was the miscreant shivering in the back of the cage. Now I knew that if I were to throw the wee beastie out the backdoor, it would be back in a matter of hours. What to do? I didn't want to go down the road carting the mouse in the cage, for I was conscious of me neighbours and did not want to blight them with the wee creature, nor be questioned on what I be doing with it.
Where in all Boston does one inconspicuously drop off a live mouse I ask you?
I came up with this fab idea to confuse the thing. I thought if I confuse it, it wouldn't be able to find it's way back. So, I asked Tonya if I could borrow her VW (and no, I didn't tell her about me passenger, for I know she'd have refused me the auto), and draping the cage in a towel (so wee beastie couldn't see where he was going), I drove around the area, this way and that way, and then that other way, and back again, and then all over once more. This traveling about with me wee prisoner was an attempt to disorient it. Uh huh.
I came back to me flat, hoping the drive in zigzag mode (a clever attempt to keep the mouse dazed and confused on me part), had done the trick. I took the thing behind the garden shed at the back of the property and released said nuisance. Well, within hours, the mouse was back! Let that be a lesson to you, they are smart wee buggers they be and I be of a mind they be better at getting back to the point of departure than homing pigeons.
So here I sit, listening to the rumbling of me four-legged roommate running above me head in-between the ceiling boards, making quite a racket, as if to say, "Ha! I am home AGAIN, you poor excuse for a human being!"
It be like listening to a demented soul moving furniture in the attic in the wee hours. I get no sleep, I come to find me cup being full of droppings, and worse, it gets in the cupboard and eats me Irish biscuits. I needs me a snap trap I do.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
You'll find this stupid, and you'll tell me to get the Pee cat. You know I have been home nursing me pneumonia infested-self back to health. I've had plenty of time to sit and try to sleep me way to the blush of physical robustness, that I can in the silence, hear doors opening and closing, neighbours treading up and down the staircase, and sometimes, I can hear snatches of conversation. This be all well and good, except there is something else that I hear, almost constantly, and it is driving me insane.
Yours truly, your beloved man about the place, has had a single mouse that scurries above me in the ceiling as I sit in front of me telly drinking a good hearty Murphys. Yes, I know a beer is not good when one is taking antibiotics, but this is me, and I'm Irish so I feel entitled. Well R. Linda, it got to be annoying the scratching, the scurrying, the squeaks, the bumps, the droppings, that I, as the man of the hour, decided to trap the damn nuisance once and for all. I hauled me sniffling self up and went out but could find no snap traps, only one humane contraption. So harassed was I, I bought it, baited it, and then waited, yes I did.
And sure enough the very next morning there was the miscreant shivering in the back of the cage. Now I knew that if I were to throw the wee beastie out the backdoor, it would be back in a matter of hours. What to do? I didn't want to go down the road carting the mouse in the cage, for I was conscious of me neighbours and did not want to blight them with the wee creature, nor be questioned on what I be doing with it.
Where in all Boston does one inconspicuously drop off a live mouse I ask you?
I came up with this fab idea to confuse the thing. I thought if I confuse it, it wouldn't be able to find it's way back. So, I asked Tonya if I could borrow her VW (and no, I didn't tell her about me passenger, for I know she'd have refused me the auto), and draping the cage in a towel (so wee beastie couldn't see where he was going), I drove around the area, this way and that way, and then that other way, and back again, and then all over once more. This traveling about with me wee prisoner was an attempt to disorient it. Uh huh.
I came back to me flat, hoping the drive in zigzag mode (a clever attempt to keep the mouse dazed and confused on me part), had done the trick. I took the thing behind the garden shed at the back of the property and released said nuisance. Well, within hours, the mouse was back! Let that be a lesson to you, they are smart wee buggers they be and I be of a mind they be better at getting back to the point of departure than homing pigeons.
So here I sit, listening to the rumbling of me four-legged roommate running above me head in-between the ceiling boards, making quite a racket, as if to say, "Ha! I am home AGAIN, you poor excuse for a human being!"
It be like listening to a demented soul moving furniture in the attic in the wee hours. I get no sleep, I come to find me cup being full of droppings, and worse, it gets in the cupboard and eats me Irish biscuits. I needs me a snap trap I do.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
