Dear Santa,
I have always been polite in my previous correspondence, and I've been good, nauseatingly so at times, but your seasonal offerings of later years have left me cold. I don't like being taken for granted. I have therefore decided to end our relationship. You are no longer on my Christmas card list.
Although, to be precise, I haven't exactly deleted you, more like transferred you, to another list.
What? You can't work it out for yourself? Okay, I'll give you a clue, if I must. It rhymes with a synonym for head lice.
Still in the dark, old man? Knocked your noggin on too many mantelpieces over the years, have we? Or perhaps all that snow has caused neuronic frostbite. But of course, all those free beers people leave out for you would've prompted some significant premature cell death, and then there's the saturated fat laced cookies that will be lining your arteries, slowing down the blood flow to your brain... I guess I may have to be a little less cryptic then. Get you up to speed. Let me spell it out for ya, Santa Pants--you're gonna go-go-go, ho-ho-ho, no-no-no longer.
Yours malevolently
Holly
Oops...did I just threaten to kill someone? I hope no policemen are reading this...
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Thumbing a ride
I don't usually pick up hitchhikers. Probably because I don't have a car. Or a driver's licence. I believe one of those is required to get behind the wheel of a motor vehicle these days. Oh well. I s'pose I could always offer someone a ride on my rusty crusty dusty old bicycle. Or maybe not. On reflection, I doubt my vintage bike could cope with someone straddling the handle bars. You should hear how loudly it creaks when there's just me on it. People turn and stare. I kid you not. I'll get around to oiling it one day. Promise. And fixing the brakes. That too. Guess I better make a list...And try not to misplace it anywhere. Again...
Anyway, as I was saying, or trying to say, this afternoon I did pick up a hitchhiker. I stuck out my thumb, and offered a baby stick insect a lift. He/she was marching, quite assertively, along the footpath. Thankfully, I was gazing at the pavement at this precise moment, and not the clouds. Clouds are one of my favourite things, so I do look at them quite a bit. I shudder to think what might've happened if the clouds had been particularly riveting ones today. Let's not even go there.
Anyway, as aforementioned, this little critter had quite a confident gait, (albeit a bit of a wobbly one, but I reckon that's inbuilt.) This caused me to wonder if he/she needed any assistance, but the footpath is rather wide, so out my thumb went. The stick insect showed no hesitation whatsoever. He/she climbed aboard! His/her tiny feet tickled my thumb. I gently relocated him/her to a slightly more stick insect friendly environment. A nearby bush. Good grief. Talk about a cutie. Stole my heart.
I would show you a photo. If I had taken one. But I left my image capturing contraption at home. Damn it. Something else to write on the list, I guess. When you leave the house, don't forget to take your camera....
I did stop and say hello on the way home. As I passed by the bush. It was just a brief salutation to the shrub in general as the stick impersonator was nowhere to be seen. (And I confess I was a little worried that the people who live at the house that the bush belongs to might think I'm a freak if they catch me talking to their greenery too often. I have stopped to admire/ogle their fine crop of lawn daisies once or twice. Or maybe three or four times. I haven't been counting. Hopefully they haven't been either, but one has to think about these things.)
I'm hoping the stick figure found a pleasant leaf to hang out under. Somewhere where birds, and cats and other creatures that might intend it harm, can't reach. The bush hadn't received a haircut in my absence, so that was a comforting sign. Here's hoping all is well in baby stick insect land...
Anyway, as I was saying, or trying to say, this afternoon I did pick up a hitchhiker. I stuck out my thumb, and offered a baby stick insect a lift. He/she was marching, quite assertively, along the footpath. Thankfully, I was gazing at the pavement at this precise moment, and not the clouds. Clouds are one of my favourite things, so I do look at them quite a bit. I shudder to think what might've happened if the clouds had been particularly riveting ones today. Let's not even go there.
Anyway, as aforementioned, this little critter had quite a confident gait, (albeit a bit of a wobbly one, but I reckon that's inbuilt.) This caused me to wonder if he/she needed any assistance, but the footpath is rather wide, so out my thumb went. The stick insect showed no hesitation whatsoever. He/she climbed aboard! His/her tiny feet tickled my thumb. I gently relocated him/her to a slightly more stick insect friendly environment. A nearby bush. Good grief. Talk about a cutie. Stole my heart.
I would show you a photo. If I had taken one. But I left my image capturing contraption at home. Damn it. Something else to write on the list, I guess. When you leave the house, don't forget to take your camera....
I did stop and say hello on the way home. As I passed by the bush. It was just a brief salutation to the shrub in general as the stick impersonator was nowhere to be seen. (And I confess I was a little worried that the people who live at the house that the bush belongs to might think I'm a freak if they catch me talking to their greenery too often. I have stopped to admire/ogle their fine crop of lawn daisies once or twice. Or maybe three or four times. I haven't been counting. Hopefully they haven't been either, but one has to think about these things.)
I'm hoping the stick figure found a pleasant leaf to hang out under. Somewhere where birds, and cats and other creatures that might intend it harm, can't reach. The bush hadn't received a haircut in my absence, so that was a comforting sign. Here's hoping all is well in baby stick insect land...
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Mistaken identity
There isn't a mouse in my new house. Not even two. Hard to hide my disappointment really. I got all excited the other day when I spotted what I thought were mouse droppings on my kitchen bench, but turns out the little brown parcels weren't dung after all, but beetles. Of the borer variety. I really like bugs--most bugs--and I harbour no animosity towards borer. Not as if I have any furniture for them to tuck into. But...well...they just aint quite as entertaining as Mr Maus and his band of merry maidens. I wonder what the rascals are doing now...Hmmmm...
While there aren't any head bobbing mice on the premises, I have noticed a head bobbing bug. Think he might be a parasitic wasp. I thought he was making a bee-line (or perhaps that should be wasp-line) for my ear, which was somewhat disconcerting, but he was only trying to get to his hidey hole in the outside wall by the front door. I had rather thoughtlessly placed my noggin in the middle of his flight path. An amicable resolution was reached--I ducked. He's a little camera shy, so this picky is the best I could manage.
While there aren't any head bobbing mice on the premises, I have noticed a head bobbing bug. Think he might be a parasitic wasp. I thought he was making a bee-line (or perhaps that should be wasp-line) for my ear, which was somewhat disconcerting, but he was only trying to get to his hidey hole in the outside wall by the front door. I had rather thoughtlessly placed my noggin in the middle of his flight path. An amicable resolution was reached--I ducked. He's a little camera shy, so this picky is the best I could manage.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Earthquakes...snow....and conversations with ducks...
Christchurch has been bombarded by insults over the past year. Earthquake after earthquake. More than 7000 aftershocks since September, in fact. Some more noteworthy than others. Then it was snow.
Yeah, I realize that lots of people around the world are used to dealing with the flaky stuff, but not here. Not major dumps. Twice. And the snow covered up the craters and rubble the quakes generated, which made moving around--what's left of--the city, even more hazardous. Interesting times.
When I was walking along the quake-mangled river recently, I stopped to ask a couple of ducks for their thoughts on Mother Nature's new urban design. They cast me a nonchalant glance and flew over to the other side of the river. Fair enough. A woman on the opposite bank had a much more interesting conversation starter--a bread bag. I didn't take it personally.
Anyway, that got me thinking. If Christchurch was still a swamp, with no buildings, what would happen in a quake? Would it just be the equivalent of a bog burp? Or, in other words, it isn't actually the tectonic rumblings we have to fear. It is our own creations. Rocks that fall off cliffs aside, it is our bricks and mortar that killed people. And as long as the quakes continue, the man-made structures will continue to tumble.
Mother Nature has come to reclaim her swamp. Let her have it, I say. Don't really think we are in a position to argue. Maybe we should rename Christchurch "Topsy Turvy Land" and all live in bouncy castles. That might be the only way to entice the tourists back, and to keep us all safe from further harm...
PS: Since writing the above, I was forced to adopt Mr Maus's philosophy of reckless abandon. I had to leave my unsafe flat, so I dumped/gave away almost everything I own, and fled the swamp.
What happened to Mr Maus? I caught him in one of those humane traps laced with his all time favorite, peanut butter, and rehomed him. I um...I also caught his sister wives...cos um...turns out he was the harem favoring kind of mouse, after all. Talk about a busy mausmaid...talk about a busy Mr Maus...sheesh...
Hated having to disrupt their domestic bliss, but they needed a safe new home too. Here's hoping that I made a good choice in that regard, acknowledging the many perils that face wild mousies in this world...
Thank you Mr Maus, and friends, for choosing my stove to head bob about in. I shall always treasure, and miss, your company :)
Yeah, I realize that lots of people around the world are used to dealing with the flaky stuff, but not here. Not major dumps. Twice. And the snow covered up the craters and rubble the quakes generated, which made moving around--what's left of--the city, even more hazardous. Interesting times.
When I was walking along the quake-mangled river recently, I stopped to ask a couple of ducks for their thoughts on Mother Nature's new urban design. They cast me a nonchalant glance and flew over to the other side of the river. Fair enough. A woman on the opposite bank had a much more interesting conversation starter--a bread bag. I didn't take it personally.
Anyway, that got me thinking. If Christchurch was still a swamp, with no buildings, what would happen in a quake? Would it just be the equivalent of a bog burp? Or, in other words, it isn't actually the tectonic rumblings we have to fear. It is our own creations. Rocks that fall off cliffs aside, it is our bricks and mortar that killed people. And as long as the quakes continue, the man-made structures will continue to tumble.
Mother Nature has come to reclaim her swamp. Let her have it, I say. Don't really think we are in a position to argue. Maybe we should rename Christchurch "Topsy Turvy Land" and all live in bouncy castles. That might be the only way to entice the tourists back, and to keep us all safe from further harm...
PS: Since writing the above, I was forced to adopt Mr Maus's philosophy of reckless abandon. I had to leave my unsafe flat, so I dumped/gave away almost everything I own, and fled the swamp.
What happened to Mr Maus? I caught him in one of those humane traps laced with his all time favorite, peanut butter, and rehomed him. I um...I also caught his sister wives...cos um...turns out he was the harem favoring kind of mouse, after all. Talk about a busy mausmaid...talk about a busy Mr Maus...sheesh...
Hated having to disrupt their domestic bliss, but they needed a safe new home too. Here's hoping that I made a good choice in that regard, acknowledging the many perils that face wild mousies in this world...
Thank you Mr Maus, and friends, for choosing my stove to head bob about in. I shall always treasure, and miss, your company :)
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Mr Maus lives!
He's alive! But it was touch and go for a while there, folks. We had a massive earthquake recently and Mr Maus disappeared--for 26 days... When we had an as-it-turns-out-not-so-big-after-all-big earthquake last year, he was only gone for five days.
This time, I gave up hope. Finally accepted that he must have run off and got lost, or had a heart attack, or something. He is getting on a bit for a mouse. And the house shook soooooo much more violently than it did in the first quake... (Sheesh. How many times can you shake a house like a rag doll before it falls down? Okay, so I'm not really sure I want to know the answer to that question.)
Imagine my surprise, and delight, when I got up one morning and saw that Mr Maus's plate had been relieved of its peanuts! Its somewhat stale peanuts... Woohoo! The little ratbag had me so worried...or perhaps that should be mousebag...no...that just sounds weird...let's go with rascal...
Anyway, in case you're about to ask, yes, I'm sure twas not another mouse, or two, that stumbled across his smorgasbord. It's my Mr Maus. He's back to his porthole antics.
And I'd recognise those adorable little ears anywhere. (Scroll back up, or head over to the photo essay in my first post, if you need to.) I watched him cart off ten sunflower seeds in a row the other night, taking one at a time back down the porthole. Very methodical. Very nimble.
I don't think he hangs out under the element all the time though. I have reason to believe that he has an office/den inside the toilet/kitchen wall. But how does he get his stash from one room to another, I hear you ask? Good question. I've wondered that myself. We've already established that he doesn't have any pockets...
Maybe he has some sort of "mouse-bag." (Sorry, might've neglected to warn you about the potentially prolific puns that may randomly appear in this blog. Oh, and there may be some appalling attempts at alliteration also. Can't promise not to resort to the insertion of a run of the mill cliche or two, every now and then, either. Better the devil you know, I say. Consider yourself warned. I'm working on an official disclaimer.)
But, back to more important considerations. What kind of mouse-bag? Does Mr Maus place the nuts and seeds in a handkerchief? The sort you then fold up and tie to the end of a stick? No, I don't actually like that image, cute though it is, it makes me think of him leaving again...Sauntering off into the sunset...
Maybe he just has a backpack. Or a satchel...yeah, that would work...or maybe he needs a satchel...I wonder if I could assist... Did Barbie ever go through a satchel phase? Would be about the right size. The color range, or rather, the lack of color range could be an issue though... How does he feel about pink? Hmmmm....might spoil his image...
Reckon he'd look supremely cute with a briefcase. Executive mouse. Dark sunglasses to match. Kinda fits with him running his own black market business. But then, he seems more the bohemian type to me...waistcoat...frayed jeans...perhaps a goatee...
Let me just take a moment to reassure you that dressing animals up to look like miniature humans is soooooo not my idea of fun. From the photos I have been unfortunate enough to see, it doesn't look like any of the decorated animals are having fun either. I never, ever, made my cat wear a tiara.
Admittedly, I did make him wear an Elizabethan collar once, but it was plastic, and it had a purpose--to stop him ripping out his stitches. [Why do cats do that?] I did make him wear a sock once too, but that was so he wouldn't rip off his bandage. It was also a homemade polar fleece ensemble. Very unfashionable, and completely useless.
Okay, so I just googled "barbie satchel" and they do exist, they're just not barbie-sized. Doh. Time to rethink that idea.
The big question, of course, is not what kind of nut transportation receptacle Mr Maus employs, or needs, but where was he for those 26 very long days? Perhaps I'll never find out--unless he opens up in a tell-all interview. At least I know he can survive without my packed lunches. If the house falls down in the next even-bigger-than-big quake, hopefully he will once again be resilient. A friend did comment recently, "mice live a life of high adventure, don't they..."
Having said that, I do have some concerns about his survival skills. They may need some fine tuning. My cat was born without a sense of self-preservation. As was I. Perhaps I will elaborate on that another time. Perhaps not.
Right now, I'm wondering if this condition is contagious, because the other night I watched Mr Maus run over not one, but two cacti plants. The kind that have lots and lots of prickles. Ouch. I've had a few run-ins with them myself. Not so much fun. He didn't yelp in pain though. Or even slow down. Admittedly, they are peanut cacti, but really...why would he do something so stoopid?
Oh wait...I'm forgetting his activities on the night we first met...I see a pattern forming here... Unless of course, there is a basic physiological explanation. His eyesight might be a little compromised. Would explain his lengthy absence--maybe he couldn't see his way home.
But then, you never know...his cacti dance could've been intentional. The mouse equivalent of walking over hot coals. I have noticed that he seems less jittery and more confident since his return. Is approaching the world with reckless abandon his new post-quake motto? I hope not. I may have to worry--more than usual. Tis a perilous existence for a mouse.
But perhaps I'm forgetting my place. He is his own mouse. And I am just a mere mausmaid... If he wants to spend his evening plucking prickles out of his appendages, who am I to judge. (Um....yeah...I did move the cacti though. How could I not. His feet are insanely cute...well matched to his ears...the photos don't do them justice...)
You know...don't want to go all philosophical on you...but I'm thinking that Mr Maus could be onto something. Re his post-quake motto. I may have to steal it...
We like to think we have some control over our lives, but none of us really know what is looming around the next corner. Or even if there's another corner for something to loom around. The earth beneath the city I live in has swallowed a fair number of corners lately... Reckon there's a good chance it will try to ingest some more. Reckless abandon could be the best way to--try and--survive it all.
Don't worry. Not about to scatter cactus plant prickles over my keyboard anytime soon. I may, however, embark on a quest, bravely wading through the treacherous sea of clutter in my quake-rearranged living room in search of a dust-infused, cobweb-covered parchment, a.k.a. my bucket list...
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Magnificent Mr Maus
I have a mouse who lives in my house. (Oops...sorry...that was an accidental rhyme...honest...) Although, technically, I have a mouse who lives in my stove. I call him Mr Maus. There is really only one word in the English language that is befitting of this fellow-exquisite.
Just in case you require photographic evidence;
His side profile is quite fetching too (apologies for the insipid yellow look);
And now for an action shot;
And one more for good measure;
And here he is, diving down the "mousehole";
Check out that goofy foot, how cute is that;
But this could be cuter;
If I had a video camera, I'd make Mr Maus a star on youtube, because he does this crazy little head bobbing thing, where he bobs up and down out of the element, often more than ten times in a row, presumably psyching himself into making the trek across the stove to retrieve his tasty morsels. To the right of the picture is his dinner plate where these scrumptious offerings reside, so as you can see, he doesn't really have far to go. Guess he just has a bit of a nervous disposition...
How did Mr Maus and I meet? Now there's an interesting tail...
I awoke early one morning, around the 5am mark, to a commotion that I assumed was being made by an intruder. Armed with a letter opener (yes, I realise how tragic that sounds), I had little choice but to investigate. A quick glance at the lounge chair confirmed that the noises weren't being made my cat. He heard them though. His ears were on alert. Luckily, he wasn't intrigued enough to launch his own investigation.
Perplexed would be a good word to describe my response to the scene I encountered. An empty soymilk container, one of those rectangular ones, was thrashing around on the kitchen bench. Seemingly unaided. I'm not used to seeing inanimate objects in states of animation (or, I'm not used to admitting to it, at least). Especially at that hour of the morning. Took me a while to process.
On closer inspection, I noticed a suspiciously mouse-like bottom and tail poking out of the lid. Mr Maus had somehow managed to squeeze his head, shoulders and most of his body through the hole, and then got stuck.
I did a bit more processing. Then I picked up the container with attached rodent, took it out to the verandah and pondered my next move. Despair quickly set in. How on earth was I going to free the little mousie? I couldn't pull him out, in case I dislocated something. I couldn't cut him out either...in case I accidentally cut something else.
It didn't occur to me at the time (hey, it was 5am, remember) that because the container had been flattened, in preparation for recycling, interior air molecules would've been in short supply. Just as well I didn't realize, cos I'm pretty sure that would've sent me into a mad panic. Things never turn out well when that happens...
Luckily, I didn't have to pull or cut anything. Somehow, Mr Maus wriggled himself out of his predicament. He looked a bit shaken by his ordeal though. He sort of ran/staggered/lurched off the verandah into the garden beyond.
My cat went back to sleep, I went back to bed, and the next night, Mr Maus came back. I didn't see that coming. I guess he probably realised that I had the perfect opportunity to hurt him when he was well and truly wedged, if hurting little critters was something I was into. But I didn't, so I wouldn't, and he was right. My cat, however...
A few nights later, I was woken once again, in the wee small hours, by a very loud thud. The first thought that went through my mind was, "OMG! That sounds like the kind of thud my cat would make when he jumps onto the stove to try and get Mr Maus!" Luckily, Mr Maus's reflexes were a little faster than those of my geriatric cat.
Just so you know, I did try to stop Mr Maus from getting back in, as I was terrified I would be woken early one morning by the sound of my cat crunching on mice bones, on my pillow, but mouse features has proven himself to be a very industrious individual. One who likes his new abode far too much to consider relocation.
I still find it hard to believe that a mouse would live in a house (oops...sorry... another accidental rhyme, or AR, for short...just in case it happens again...probably won't...but it's best if you prepare yourself) where a cat also lives, but hey. My cat was very old--sadly the use of past tense is now required--and I guess Mr Maus noticed, and decided to take his chances.Occasionally my cat did spot Mr Maus doing his head bobbing thing, but I would just convince him he was hallucinating again, and...well...he bought it. He was very old...
I decided the safest option for everyone was if I just put a plate out for Mr Maus, right next to his porthole. So he wouldn't have to go looking for sustenance. That way the likelihood of him getting caught by the feline of the house would be kept to a minimum, and I wouldn't have to mop up puddles of mouse wee from my bench. And this arrangement has worked for all concerned, for over a year. And just in case you haven't picked it yet--I'm smitten.
Having said that, I am a little cross with Mr Maus. I'm worried about his cholesterol. And other aspects of his nutrition. He simply refuses to eat his vegetables. And fruits.
He wasn't so fussy in the beginning. In fact, not long before we met, I noticed that a piece of apple peel had somehow ended up over by the toaster. I thought this was a little peculiar, but just assumed, for want of any other plausible scenario, that I had accidentally flung it there mid peel. Happy with this explanation, I thought no more of it.
I um...I actually found a pool of yellowish liquid on the bench one day, that smelt strangely wee like... My explanation for that was that I must be hallucinating...Yeah, I know, I'm not the sharpest tool in the toolbox. And in case you are wondering, no, Mr Maus is not responsible for the discoloration of that second photo...
But back to Mr Maus's vegetable avoidance. When I first started feeding him, he even supplemented his diet with potato peelings. Or at least, he tried to.
Guess mice don't carry pocket knives...possibly because they don't have pockets...or because they kinda have inbuilt ones...knives, I mean...but maybe he decided this morsel just wasn't worth the effort...
Anyway, Mr Maus is no longer tempted by tomatoes, apples, carrots, raisins, or even strawberries! Outrageous! What is a mausmaid to do? He just prefers peanuts. And lots of them. Sometimes he'll take the pumpkin seeds if the peanuts are in short supply. Sunflower seeds if he's desperate. But I sense his reluctance.
As you can see in the photos, he's quite a sleek and slender fellow, which is surprising given his nut fetish. It makes me wonder if perhaps he has an entrepreneurial streak. Maybe he sells the peanuts on the rodent black market. Assuming there is such a thing... And I have no reason not to...
Maybe there just isn't much demand for perishables, like strawberries...or perhaps some other creature has that side of the market cornered...my garden is home to at least one--rather rowdy--hedgehog...and quite a few wild strawberry plants...
I'm pleased to report that Mr Maus appears to be a confirmed bachelor. I haven't heard any collective chatterings coming from inside the walls that suggest a murine harem. Phew. Guess he knows he's on to a good thing. One too precious to share.
It wouldn't surprise me though if he's a bit of a ladies' man. I can picture him wooing many a young mousie, he's got the x factor thing going on, that's indisputable, and if you combine his charms with an offer to share a delectable nut nibble, how could a mouse-maiden refuse? He's just sensible enough not to invite them to stay the night. Either that, or he's had the snip...
Of course, I may have overestimated his prowess. He might just be waiting for Miss Right...That is kinda sweet...I'd like to think that he might find "the one." Of course, that would complicate things...given that one plus one equals population explosion, in mouse terms...hmmm... He'd be a good provider though...
I forgot to mention that his head bobbing thing is accompanied by sound effects that are just as endearing. Think along the lines of cur-clunk. And I really hope you've noticed his perfect little ears. (Just scroll back up, if you need to.) Did I mention that I'm smitten?
And don't worry. I NEVER turn on the actual oven. And I never intentionally turn on the element his little head pops out of. Um...admittedly, I have turned it on by accident, once or twice over the past year, but only for a matter of seconds before panic sets in.
But don't worry, it's not the kind of mad panic that prompts me to do something stoopid. I just turn the element off. And thankfully such lapses in concentration have not yet had any adverse consequences. Double phew. In fact, I might go and stick a note on the knob for that element while I think of it. Just to be on the safe side...
Update: I have cleverly attached a twist tie thingy to that knob. It's enough to remind me to stay the hell away from it, but--hopefully--not enough to encourage visitors to ask what it is doing there. If I had opted to attach a note with "Mr Maus's porthole" written on it, chances are I would forget to remove it next time the landlords visit, and my instinct tells me that would be bad...very much so...
Of course, I also make sure that any soymilk containers awaiting recycling, have their lids firmly on...
Now, I don't won't to get ahead of myself here, or get your hopes up, but I'm quietly confident that one of my future posts may include an interview with Mr Maus! Still in the negotiation stage, few contract details to fine tune, you know how it is, but I can say it looks very promising! Until then--AR alert--be nice to mice!
Just in case you require photographic evidence;
His side profile is quite fetching too (apologies for the insipid yellow look);
And now for an action shot;
And one more for good measure;
And here he is, diving down the "mousehole";
Check out that goofy foot, how cute is that;
But this could be cuter;
If I had a video camera, I'd make Mr Maus a star on youtube, because he does this crazy little head bobbing thing, where he bobs up and down out of the element, often more than ten times in a row, presumably psyching himself into making the trek across the stove to retrieve his tasty morsels. To the right of the picture is his dinner plate where these scrumptious offerings reside, so as you can see, he doesn't really have far to go. Guess he just has a bit of a nervous disposition...
How did Mr Maus and I meet? Now there's an interesting tail...
I awoke early one morning, around the 5am mark, to a commotion that I assumed was being made by an intruder. Armed with a letter opener (yes, I realise how tragic that sounds), I had little choice but to investigate. A quick glance at the lounge chair confirmed that the noises weren't being made my cat. He heard them though. His ears were on alert. Luckily, he wasn't intrigued enough to launch his own investigation.
Perplexed would be a good word to describe my response to the scene I encountered. An empty soymilk container, one of those rectangular ones, was thrashing around on the kitchen bench. Seemingly unaided. I'm not used to seeing inanimate objects in states of animation (or, I'm not used to admitting to it, at least). Especially at that hour of the morning. Took me a while to process.
On closer inspection, I noticed a suspiciously mouse-like bottom and tail poking out of the lid. Mr Maus had somehow managed to squeeze his head, shoulders and most of his body through the hole, and then got stuck.
I did a bit more processing. Then I picked up the container with attached rodent, took it out to the verandah and pondered my next move. Despair quickly set in. How on earth was I going to free the little mousie? I couldn't pull him out, in case I dislocated something. I couldn't cut him out either...in case I accidentally cut something else.
It didn't occur to me at the time (hey, it was 5am, remember) that because the container had been flattened, in preparation for recycling, interior air molecules would've been in short supply. Just as well I didn't realize, cos I'm pretty sure that would've sent me into a mad panic. Things never turn out well when that happens...
Luckily, I didn't have to pull or cut anything. Somehow, Mr Maus wriggled himself out of his predicament. He looked a bit shaken by his ordeal though. He sort of ran/staggered/lurched off the verandah into the garden beyond.
My cat went back to sleep, I went back to bed, and the next night, Mr Maus came back. I didn't see that coming. I guess he probably realised that I had the perfect opportunity to hurt him when he was well and truly wedged, if hurting little critters was something I was into. But I didn't, so I wouldn't, and he was right. My cat, however...
A few nights later, I was woken once again, in the wee small hours, by a very loud thud. The first thought that went through my mind was, "OMG! That sounds like the kind of thud my cat would make when he jumps onto the stove to try and get Mr Maus!" Luckily, Mr Maus's reflexes were a little faster than those of my geriatric cat.
Just so you know, I did try to stop Mr Maus from getting back in, as I was terrified I would be woken early one morning by the sound of my cat crunching on mice bones, on my pillow, but mouse features has proven himself to be a very industrious individual. One who likes his new abode far too much to consider relocation.
I still find it hard to believe that a mouse would live in a house (oops...sorry... another accidental rhyme, or AR, for short...just in case it happens again...probably won't...but it's best if you prepare yourself) where a cat also lives, but hey. My cat was very old--sadly the use of past tense is now required--and I guess Mr Maus noticed, and decided to take his chances.Occasionally my cat did spot Mr Maus doing his head bobbing thing, but I would just convince him he was hallucinating again, and...well...he bought it. He was very old...
I decided the safest option for everyone was if I just put a plate out for Mr Maus, right next to his porthole. So he wouldn't have to go looking for sustenance. That way the likelihood of him getting caught by the feline of the house would be kept to a minimum, and I wouldn't have to mop up puddles of mouse wee from my bench. And this arrangement has worked for all concerned, for over a year. And just in case you haven't picked it yet--I'm smitten.
Having said that, I am a little cross with Mr Maus. I'm worried about his cholesterol. And other aspects of his nutrition. He simply refuses to eat his vegetables. And fruits.
He wasn't so fussy in the beginning. In fact, not long before we met, I noticed that a piece of apple peel had somehow ended up over by the toaster. I thought this was a little peculiar, but just assumed, for want of any other plausible scenario, that I had accidentally flung it there mid peel. Happy with this explanation, I thought no more of it.
I um...I actually found a pool of yellowish liquid on the bench one day, that smelt strangely wee like... My explanation for that was that I must be hallucinating...Yeah, I know, I'm not the sharpest tool in the toolbox. And in case you are wondering, no, Mr Maus is not responsible for the discoloration of that second photo...
But back to Mr Maus's vegetable avoidance. When I first started feeding him, he even supplemented his diet with potato peelings. Or at least, he tried to.
Guess mice don't carry pocket knives...possibly because they don't have pockets...or because they kinda have inbuilt ones...knives, I mean...but maybe he decided this morsel just wasn't worth the effort...
Anyway, Mr Maus is no longer tempted by tomatoes, apples, carrots, raisins, or even strawberries! Outrageous! What is a mausmaid to do? He just prefers peanuts. And lots of them. Sometimes he'll take the pumpkin seeds if the peanuts are in short supply. Sunflower seeds if he's desperate. But I sense his reluctance.
As you can see in the photos, he's quite a sleek and slender fellow, which is surprising given his nut fetish. It makes me wonder if perhaps he has an entrepreneurial streak. Maybe he sells the peanuts on the rodent black market. Assuming there is such a thing... And I have no reason not to...
Maybe there just isn't much demand for perishables, like strawberries...or perhaps some other creature has that side of the market cornered...my garden is home to at least one--rather rowdy--hedgehog...and quite a few wild strawberry plants...
I'm pleased to report that Mr Maus appears to be a confirmed bachelor. I haven't heard any collective chatterings coming from inside the walls that suggest a murine harem. Phew. Guess he knows he's on to a good thing. One too precious to share.
It wouldn't surprise me though if he's a bit of a ladies' man. I can picture him wooing many a young mousie, he's got the x factor thing going on, that's indisputable, and if you combine his charms with an offer to share a delectable nut nibble, how could a mouse-maiden refuse? He's just sensible enough not to invite them to stay the night. Either that, or he's had the snip...
Of course, I may have overestimated his prowess. He might just be waiting for Miss Right...That is kinda sweet...I'd like to think that he might find "the one." Of course, that would complicate things...given that one plus one equals population explosion, in mouse terms...hmmm... He'd be a good provider though...
I forgot to mention that his head bobbing thing is accompanied by sound effects that are just as endearing. Think along the lines of cur-clunk. And I really hope you've noticed his perfect little ears. (Just scroll back up, if you need to.) Did I mention that I'm smitten?
And don't worry. I NEVER turn on the actual oven. And I never intentionally turn on the element his little head pops out of. Um...admittedly, I have turned it on by accident, once or twice over the past year, but only for a matter of seconds before panic sets in.
But don't worry, it's not the kind of mad panic that prompts me to do something stoopid. I just turn the element off. And thankfully such lapses in concentration have not yet had any adverse consequences. Double phew. In fact, I might go and stick a note on the knob for that element while I think of it. Just to be on the safe side...
Update: I have cleverly attached a twist tie thingy to that knob. It's enough to remind me to stay the hell away from it, but--hopefully--not enough to encourage visitors to ask what it is doing there. If I had opted to attach a note with "Mr Maus's porthole" written on it, chances are I would forget to remove it next time the landlords visit, and my instinct tells me that would be bad...very much so...
Of course, I also make sure that any soymilk containers awaiting recycling, have their lids firmly on...
Now, I don't won't to get ahead of myself here, or get your hopes up, but I'm quietly confident that one of my future posts may include an interview with Mr Maus! Still in the negotiation stage, few contract details to fine tune, you know how it is, but I can say it looks very promising! Until then--AR alert--be nice to mice!
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