If you are a regular reader and you read yesterday's post then you know that wasn't the end of the story. The kids have gone to school and I wake up Lindsay (she is off in between exams) and ask her to feed Badger, of course she sees the mouse immediately and backs out of the crawl space.
Obviously it is up to me, so I squeeze in and make my first attempt at capture. The poor mouse - a pretty little thing, shiny brown fur, bright black eyes - is sitting on the scoop. I carefully reach in and it darts off. I shuffle further in and try again. Still no luck, the little bastard is fast. By now I am wedged - the crawl space is a hoarders paradise - and no closer to catching the mouse. Lindsay has a bright idea and suggests we leave it for Zach to deal with. Brilliant. He hates mice, this could be blog-worthy after all.
An hour or so later Zach is over. To be fair, he is an absolute sweetheart and is willing to help with any task that we may ask of him, so I was feeling a tiny bit guilty at what we had planned. Sure enough, when I asked him to feed Badger, telling him it hurt my back to reach in to the dog food container, he was happy to oblige. Lindsay and I followed him down the stairs. He heads into the crawlspace, turns on the light and flips open the kibble container. Now, I don't wish to cast dispersions on his masculinity, and suggest that he would let out a girly scream, but that was certainly what we were hoping for.
He reaches in and puts a couple of scoops of kibble into the bowl, no reaction. Lindsay and I give each other a quizzical look. Another scoop and Zach asks if it is enough. "No" we both yell at him, "Put another scoop in". Still no girly scream. Lindsay and I carry on a lip reading conversation behind Zach's back: "WFT ? Where's the mouse?" She mouths at me. "Beats me" I shrug, "Where could it have gone?" Typically the mice get in there but can't climb back out the smooth sides of the container and stay trapped. By now the dog bowl is almost full, and Zach is convinced he has enough, but we're not ready to let go just yet, and tell him to keep scooping, certain that the mouse will put in a belated appearance.
Finally when Zach can no longer fit any more kibble in the bowl, Lindsay and I peer into the now empty container and sure enough, there is no sign of the mouse. By now Zach is looking at us as if we've lost the plot and we are forced to confess to our nefarious plan. He is not impressed and can't believe we'd do that to him. Huh ? Where the hell has he been for the last 15 months ? Convinced that the mouse couldn't have escaped I begin to wonder if he was laying stunned, at the bottom of Badgers bowl, under a ton of kibble. I ask Zach, who is still holding the bowl, to feel around with his fingers to see if the mouse was present. Finally we get our girly scream and Zach can't get rid of the bowl fast enough. It was up to me to go fishing in the kibble, fervently hoping I wouldn't get bitten, but there was no sign of anything furry.
That would have been the end of it, but it was my husband who had the last word when he heard of our hijinks, as he blasts me "Why the hell didn't you catch the fucking mouse when you had the chance, now it's loose in the crawl space and I'm going to have to set a trap". That will be good for a giggle. There is always an upside.
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