December 2, 2017 -        My big game hunter is in excellent form.

          My husband just had another birthday.  Just like a woman, he doesn’t divulge his age very often, so I won’t here. But, mind you, he has been retired for some time and he is about 16 years older than me – so you can surmise he is “up there”.  I described him as a “wisdom keeper” because he is knowledgeable about military history with all the generals, battles, planes, warships, guns, and various weapons among other things.

          Again, I go off point easily.  It has turned decidedly colder than usual here.  Normally we don’t get the consistent frozen birdbath until much later, but we currently have the frozen birdbath and frozen crunch of the morning grass when we take the dog out on his walk.  A result of this sharp dip in the temperature is restless field mice looking for a nice warm home for the winter.

          Last week I noticed my cat, Jasmine, fluffy calico girl that she is, flat on her stomach with her head and shoulders under a little wooden file cabinet that has short cabriole legs in my writer’s room.  At first, I didn’t give it a second thought as we have those smelly stinkbugs slipping in the door every time we come and go and she hunts them down.  But, after the second time I walked by her and she didn’t budge, I got down on all fours and pulled her from her intense stare down and flattened face and shoulders to the floor to peer under myself.  Of course, I saw nothing – but Jasmine had seen something and my guess - a mouse.

          I had noticed at night she would sit out near the washer and dryer - probably mice noise coming from the outside dryer vent.  Then she was near the dishwasher another night – another likely place that mice come in.  But, this head and shoulders under the file cabinet was my first confirmation we definitely have a mouse in the house.

          We have had mice before and it is simply a part of country living.  You catch them when you can and hope the situation does not escalate to more than one mouse; you set traps until you no longer catch them. Yesterday morning my husband as he is reading the paper calls to me,

“We’ve a little friend . . .”

I knew what that meant even before I confirmed it.  I got up from my rummaging in the back bedroom and started down the hall and what do I see – I see the little friend making a run it for down the hall and into the master bedroom.  I immediately follow.  He acts like he knows the floor plan and goes around the bedstead, instead of under it which would be blocked by plastic storage boxes, into the master bath alcove and slips neatly under the master closet door.  Well! We do have a mouse, it is a dark grey little thing and actually, from one perspective, it is rather cute.

I go to the newspaper-reading husband and say,

“The mouse is in the master closet.”

He instantly gets up and reaches for his grabber that has round suction cups on the end that he grabs the stinkbugs with and comes down the hall.

“You’ll never find him in that closet – it is too big.” I say casually.

My husband grabs my big flashlight with the other hand as he follows me to the master bedroom.  He is optimistic.

I am skeptical that he can catch a quick little field mouse with the grabber.  Just as soon as we get to the master closet the little mouse comes out and heads into the bathroom shower area and does a once around and then ducks under that closet door.

“Must have been too cold for him in the Master closet,” I say knowing the north corner of the house is rather cool.

My husband opens the door of the smaller closet and looks in.

“It’s packed – I won’t find him,” he complains.

“That is what closets are for – to put things in,” I sass him back.

Just then, the little mouse comes out of the closet; I guess he didn’t like that accommodation either.

I quickly grab the pillow sham from the bed and toss it at the threshold of the toilet, shower and closet-room door jam.  Both mouse and husband are in the same small room.  I watch the action, one lunge, another lunge, then he mutters,  

“Almost got you."

      Then the little mouse scurrying for an escape is tangled in the ruffle of the sham.  That is when the big game hunter pounces and darn it my dexterous hunter comes up with the little mouse caught only by its tail in the suction cups of the grabber.

I quickly move the sham pillow, rush to the front door, and open it.  I hold it open for my big game hunter following me with the little mouse squirming to get free.  The mouse is dispatched out on the front steps.  The little fella jumps down one step, then turns to look back, then hops down the next and then the next until he gets to the last step and dives over the railing into the flower bed.

It reminds me of a scene out of Ratatouille [2007 movie].

“Well done!” I say as my husband smiles and shrugs it off with the attitude that anyone can catch a mouse with one of those grabber things.  Not so.

Trust me, my big game hunter husband, walked with pride the rest of the day.