Who you gonna call? MOUSE-BUSTERS!!
Okay...I know Daryl already blogged about this but I can't resist. For his full PERSONAL account, read it here. Otherwise, here is my witness-version.
At three a.m. I woke up when I heard Big D go into the bathroom...I think I drifted off again but when he quietly crawled back into bed, I thought, Hmmmm, I could pee too...
So off I go to the bathroom.
"What are you doing?" Daryl asked.
"Uh, I gotta pee." I said, thinking DUH, what else would I be doing at three in the morning?
"Whatever you do, don't lift up that book."
I walked into the bathroom and saw Daryl's huge 700-page Refrigeration & A/C book (his stimulating bathroom reading material) laying flat on the floor in front of a tall wooden stand that I keep jewelry, vitamins etc. in...and the rug in front of the tub thrown back.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because there is a mouse in there...a little field mouse, trapped under that stand. I'm going to take care of it in the morning. I just sprayed it with Lysol."
While trying to puzzle that one out (did he plan on lulling the mouse into a Lemon-scented submission?) I squeaked out, "What? A real live mouse?" And then quickly stepped back into the hallway, off the bathroom floor.
"Yeah, you'd think your stupid cats would have taken care of it! What good are three cats if NONE of them catch a stupid little mouse?"
I had to pee regardless, so I quickly did my business, keeping my eyes on the book, waiting to see if Mighty Mouse managed to move the book at all and make his grand entrance. Nothing.
Back in bed, we continued our discussion of the uselessness of our felines in the mouse-catching department.
"Do you think it will escape?" I asked uncertainly.
"I can't go back to sleep anyway. I'll go catch it now."
The following is my account, as a listening bystander, on the other side of the bathroom/bedroom wall:
"I'm going in!" And the click of the bathroom door behind Daryl. (FYI: My bathroom is teeny-tiny.)
"Come on out, Mousey-Mousey."
SHHHHHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTTTT (that must have been the spray of more Lysol to flush him out).
"You little mother-f*&%#! This thing moves fast!"
"No! Get over here you son-of-a---"
"Ok, I tried to be nice but that's not working. How about some reading, a heavy refrigeration book?"
The bathroom door opened and Daryl hustled by, carrying a bunch of rolled up towel in his hands. I heard the front door open, then close. Then Daryl was back in the bathroom.
"Please," I begged, "Don't forget to wash your hands!" I was picturing disgusting mouse germs.
Suddenly, Daryl jumped in the doorway, still dressed only in his black boxer-briefs, black work gloves and a smile and he sang loudly,
"When there's something strange, in your battttthhhhhrroooooooom...who ya gonna call? MOUSE-BUSTERS!"
Yep. He's my Hero.