I would like to consider myself a fairly brave person. I don't get too freaked out about very many things. And I always thought people who screamed and ran away from a teeny tiny mouse in their house were overreacting.
I'm currently eating my words.
Last night as I was trying to set the table, I opened the silverware drawer and found, in addition to the knives and spoons, a little grey tail wiggling away. It took a couple of seconds for it to register that attached to said tail was a mouse. And then. . .well, I officially freaked out. I jumped up on my tip-toes and ran to the garage to tell David, except that I couldn't even make coherent sentences. All I could whisper was, "Mouse. . .kitchen. . .help."
It was pathetic.
We ended up catching the mouse at 3:40 am. And when I say "we" I mean that I found the mousetrap at Meijer and David set it up, caught the mouse, and took the trapped mouse to the garden. I still consider it a team effort.
But I have learned my lesson. Not the lesson that mice aren't scary. Oh, no, they are definitely scary. And I'm fully conviced I would react the exact same way if Mr. Mouse has a friend who is visiting our kitchen as well. No, the lesson I've learned is not to speak too soon and judge when I see someone freaking out about something. The mouse is always scarier when he's in your kitchen, right?
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