Mouse tales

I was about 14 years old. At that time, we lived in an old farmhouse - white, two story, 5 bedroom, one bathroom, tub no shower farmhouse. To be sure, it wasn't the newest structure on the block. The basement was crumbling away and there were many holes wherein all nature of vermin could gain access to our dwelling. Mice in particular haunted my poor mother. It was not at all uncommon to sit in any room and hear the mice scurrying between the walls, rumbling under the floor boards, skittering across the ceiling.

There were mousetraps everywhere - every room, every closet. First it was the good old extremely messy and grotesque snap traps. Later on we advanced to the glue traps. Glue traps, as it turns out, catch more children than they do mice. The number of socks lost far outweighed the tally of mice removed.

I was never a neat and tidy child. Hubby tells stories of how every week, he would carefully dust/clean all of his toy tractors. I have no such stories. Instead, my room was a pit. Hard to believe given my current state of OCD. Back then it was common to have papers covering the floor of my room, books strewn about, cassette tapes scattered everywhere, pictures haphazardly covering dressers and desks. None of that could be compared to the nightmare beneath my bed. Inevitably, I would kick these stray bits under my bed, not to be seen except for that once a year when I did the major cleaning spree.

One night, as I lay in my bed I could hear them. I wasn't scared or grossed out by mice - I'm still not. It was common to hear them rumbling in the walls as I fell asleep. Tonight there was one under my bed. Again, not uncommon. I was so nonplussed by this I gently, slowly began to drowse off. I quietly mentally checked through my day, went to school, did my homework, filled the car with gas, had to study more for my test the next day, and what on earth is that scratchy thing on my face? Without opening my eyes, I made an effort to ascertain if I was indeed now asleep or still slightly awake. After a few seconds I determined that I was actually still slightly awake and that there was most certainly something on my face - something moving. Something with small scratchy little...feet.

With one swift, completely fluid, totally unbroken motion I grabbed the mouse that had moved out from UNDER the bed to on top of my head. I threw him against the wall on the opposite side of the room as absolutely hard and as fast as I could. And there I sat, bolt upright, breathing hard, angry. I turned on the light, but couldn't find him. I found that hard to believe because I had thrown him quite forcefully. The resilient little sucker survived and lived to haunt us yet another day.

We moved out of that house after a few years into a much less mouse-occupied residence.