Sparky Sanders - Bravest Person Ever (3/18/08)

 Okay,
   So a ...mouse was spotted in the living area yesterday, which was horrible.  Chief placed down the all-too-inhumane sticky traps in the kitchen. Eew.  You mess with the bull, you get the horns.
     So, Sparky and I are watching a videotape of the day she was born, and she hears (I heard nothing) rustling from the kitchen.  She investigates - a tiny
mouse ("..oh, Mom, it's so cute !") has his creepy little mouse hands all up in the death goo, and is thrashing.  Cute.  We call Chief, and I am screaming, shuddering, and gagging.  No shit : dry-heaving  I have closed off the kitchen until further notice - no dinner, no nothing.  Chief suggests we...throw it away.  As if.  I continue gagging.  Mouse now has all 4 hands and a tail in the trap, but doesn't start fussing until we break through the barricaded door (as if for
attention).
   Sparky Sanders, Bravest Person Ever, grabs the fireplace shovel.  I (helping) open a Trader Joe's bag, and set it outside the kitchen door (which has
been barricaded with library books by this time).  She(as I scream and dance around, intermittently falling to my knees, inexplicably shouting "...I done never birthed a baby, Miz Skah-lett !") shovels the now squealing and squirming
thing into the bag, and drops it, because it's moving. Moving.  The bag.  Moves.
     I make an executive decision that the mouse must be removed from the premises immediately.  This is not a drill.  Not only could it get loose and come for us, but it can put out a call to its species-mates with its dying breath and they
will gather and overrun the house in revenge.  I grab keys and a phone, and we head to the parking lot across the street from the house.  We (sick with a
megavirus, and have basically been on the couch for 6 days) are in our pajamas.  We leap and scream and fuss our way across the street, much to the delight of a
neighbor.  We reach the parking lot, and dispose of the dying package in the best way we know how : we place in it in the back of a SF city worker's pickup
truck.  We continue to stake out the parking lot and watch the truck.
    The only thing that would have made it complete was if Missy had gotten  off the bus coming home from school, to see her mother and sister screaming in the
parking lot in their pajamas.

                           Proud.


3/19/08 - Update :


Well,  
   There were two (2) City trucks, both of which were parked in their places as of bedtime last night.
    This morning, one is gone - the Mouse one.  The other truck remains.  I had an appointment this morning, and when I came home, I see, from a half-block away, a dark truck blocking our driveway.
   I immediately became (more) irrational, and had an instant scenario in my head where it was the Mouse Truck, and somehow, the deed had been traced back to us and we now had to answer for ourselves, and poor Super-Sparky is alone inside the house.
   It apparently was just a black truck sitting there for no real reason - he moved away when I honked.  This is after an entire evening of discussing various
scenarios in which the now-called "Vengeance Mice"come and overrun the house and peck and nibble us all to death.