Mouse in the House

Last night I came home and made Mike brownies because he had a long day at work. Things were going well until he got home and went to change. This is how things progressed:

Mike: “Hey babe, bring me a big tupperware.”

Me: “Umm…I don’t think we have any, why?”

Mike: “I think you should come here.”

Me, elbow-deep in dish soap: “Hold on.”

I half dried off and walked into my bedroom where Mike was standing over his clothes in the corner.

Me: “Wha - AHHH!!!!!!”

Mike: “So I need a big tupperware to scoop him out.”

Me: “We should put Miles in there and let him get it.”

We put Miles, literally, on top of the mouse. Nothing. He jumped off and laid down on the floor. Great predator. Apparently all that time he spends attacking our feet under the covers has done nothing for his hunting skills.

To Mile’s defense, we later realized that he had probably already injured the little guy (he couldn’t move his front legs and his ribs were broken) and left him in the clothes as a gift. We let Miles have a look at him after we’d scooped him into a bowl and he went nuts, snatched the mouse by the head and refused to let go. (Mike, in typical boy fashion during all of this: “AWESOME! Miles that’s so sweet!”)

One of the reasons I bought Miles in the first place was to kill mice and bugs that may wander into my place. Despite his feeble attempt to attack when we wanted him to, it looks like he’s doing his job!

Moral of the story: If you want half-dead mice instead of fully live ones, get a cat. But don’t show the cat the half dead mouse after you’ve picked it up. No good can come from that.

Second moral of the story: When there is a mouse in your house, you will inevitably burn the brownies.