A Mouse in the House

          Last week, I came home from work in a fine mood. The day had whizzed by faster than a cop heading to a holdup at Tim Hortons. All was good with the world. Good, that is, until I walked in the house. Without any external clues whatsoever, I could feel tension in the air. My fears were confirmed when I entered the dining room and saw Cupcake sitting at the table with her arms crossed and a look on face like she’d just drank sour milk. I quickly replayed  the recent past for any transgressions I may have done, real or imagined and, for once, came up dry.
“We have to talk,” she stated through gritted teeth. She would have had to cheer up a bit just to be described as angry. I needed a snappy come-back to maintain my good spirits. Her spirits, unfortunately, were too far gone for me to improve.
“You want to thank me for making the bed every day this week?” I suggested hopefully. She ignored my dual-purpose quip designed to both lighten the mood and illustrate what a good boy I’ve been.
“Earlier today a mouse ran over my foot,” she declared, her voice just one notch below shrill. Her face was a picture of accusation. I’m sure she thought I’d trained it expressly for the purpose of running over her foot.
“Did it hurt?” I asked, full of concern.
“Of course not you... you...” she sputtered .
Before she could form an unpleasant, yet descriptive adjective/noun combination (stupid idiot, for example) for me, I thought I’d dig myself a little deeper.
“Well, the way you’re acting, it sounded like when it ran over your foot, it was with my Kia,” I pointed out reasonably, although perhaps unwisely. “You’re not hurt and other than the minor issue of the mouse, everything else is fine. Look at the real consequences.”
“Look, Buster,” she snarled. “You know how much I hate mice. Either you get rid of it or I’ll show you real consequences. You constantly leave that screen door open; just inviting the disgusting vermin to come in. You better have a business license for this Hanta Virus halfway house you’re running. I won’t sleep a wink tonight knowing that horrid creature is menacing us.”
“Don’t worry,” I consoled her. “When he chows down on the mousebait I have in the vents, he won’t bother you anymore. You know, I wonder if he will be creeped out by any mouse skeletons he comes across in the walls from previous infestations.”
“Ewww! Don’t even talk about that! That’s revolting!” She involuntarily shivered. “I want you to set out traps and catch it before it eats the poison!”
“Okay,” I cautioned as agreeably as I could. “But don’t blame me if you’re lying awake at night listening for the SNAP! Minute by minute... hour by hour... you’ll be laying there... waiting for that dreaded...” “All right, all right all right,” Cupcake waved her hands to stop the imagery from continuing. “I get the picture. Fine, you can keep your trap shut... like that will ever happen.”
“Nice,” I grunted. “Look, it’s not fair to be mad at me because a mouse scared you. That’s all I’m saying. No one knows who left the door open when it managed to sneak past our defences. You’re simply redirecting your anger of the moment towards me and it should be directed elsewhere.”
“Redirecting my anger at you has worked for decades, why should I change now?”  she pointed out absent-minded and then caught herself. “I mean, I don’t do that!” “Well, according to this book I’ve been reading...”  I began
“Oh no! You’re not reading ‘Chicken Soup for the Menopausal Man’ or some other claptrap, are you?” She broke in. “If you really want to improve our relationship, you will forget reading books telling me how I should act and catch that flea-bitten, lice-ridden rodent  NOW!”
“Be reasonable,” I implored. “It’s not like I have an AK47 and can shoot up the walls until its dead. These things take time. I have no idea where it’s at right now. It could very well be writhing in pain, gasping his last breath as the poison wracks his poor little body; drying it out worse than a ninety year old in a tanning booth.”
“Will you stop with that stuff? You’re not helping!”  She snapped.
“I’m just trying to explain,” I replied defensively.
Our son ambled into the room.
“If you guys are talking about the mouse, I saw it run out the back door when Mom left it open to bring in groceries.” He stated nonchalantly.
Cupcake was thrilled to be rid of her nemesis. “Thank heavens! You notice when I leave the door open, they run out, not in?”
“When they run in they haven’t met you yet,” I mumbled under my breath.
Later on I cornered my kid. “You never saw that mouse run out of the house, did you? That sounded like a load of hoohaw.”
“You’ll never know,” he smiled. “But you owe me one.”