The House of Mouse

Around 2 am, I awoke from a sound sleep to find spiceboy standing stark still in the middle of the living room (which, since our apartment is 350 sq feet, is also the tv room and the pantry) with his head cocked curiously to one side.

I know this stance.

It means there's a mouse in our house, and that spiceboy has detected it with his superhuman ears.

Sure enough, when spiceboy opened the closet, he found a little mouse frolicking around in our large bag of unbleached flour. When he tried to get the little bugger, it disappeared into a crack in the wall, presumably from whence it came.

I didn't see any of this, of course. spiceboy told me later, once he'd gotten back into bed. Throughout the whole ordeal, I was cowering under the bedsheets, yelling: "Secure the perimeter! We must secure the perimeter!"

I'm not really sure what that means, but it sounded proactive and assertive, so I kept yellling it.

spiceboy must leave town again tomorrow to conduct yet more spicebusiness, which leaves me alone in this tiny apartment with the evil rodent. So, even though tonight is our last night together and we should be doing couply, last night together things, I'm totally stressed. How can I relax and get romantic when I know there's a mouse lurking in the shadows? I mean, really.

There's only one solution: I must secure the perimeter. Now I just have to figure out how. Maybe with a brave attitude and roll of duct tape everything will be okay. And now I must go to work.

More soon.