On occasion. But still, that doesn’t mean that I’m always exaggerating. Or at least, that I’m always exaggerating much. I mean, come on, look at journalism. Two stories about the same event that both stick to the facts can diverge wildly. I slant things to my perspective, which is a dramatic one; I can’t help it.
But I wasn’t exaggerating about the mice.
Trying to sleep while they’re scurrying around at top volume, etc. etc., actually seeing them (which is rare even when you do have lots of mice) on multiple occasions, etc. etc., trying to drag any of four (four!) cats in the house into my room in order to alert them to the problem, etc. etc.–all this has been active over the last week, and when I mention new sightings or hearings and vent to someone and talk about considering trying to catch one (mice don’t really bother me, but I had fun embracing the stereotype), they all give me patient looks. I am familiar with these patient looks. I wear them often, when alerted to such momentous sightings as, “Meghan Meghan Meghan you HAVE to come see, Meghan Meghan come SEE, it’s giant, it’s huge, it’s bigger than my head, Meghan Meghan–!”, which invariably turn out to be non-stinging bumblebees of the smaller-than-the-space-between-the-middle-knuckles-of-my-pinkie-finger variety, or someothersuch less-grand-than-touted item.
But lo! The mouse went too far. It was headed along a board on the wall of my closet, towards (DUM DUM DUM DUM) my clean clothing. (Is nothing sacred to these depraved rodents?!?!? I ask you! My clean clothing.)* I immediately set down my memoir, sprang up from my bed, grabbed a nearby tupperware container, and trapped the maurauding creature, thus sparing my clean laundry.** And then I didn’t know what to do with it. I couldn’t just walk out to the barn and let it loose.***
Eventually I settled on keeping it at least until tomorrow, when I can show it off. But I didn’t want to suffocate it, nor did I want to ruin good Tupperware by punching holes in it. The solution? Transference of the captive from Tupperware to weighted-colander-on-handy-slab-of-wood. I first was going to leave it on the table for the girls to discover when they awoke, but then I recalled that they can’t read, and would thus likely free my mouse before they knew it was there, causing them and the mouse trauma, not to mention that the mouse would probably come right back to my room, where I’d have to repeat this tomorrow night with a savvier mouse. So it’s under a weighted colander on that bit of wood on my floor, waiting to be revealed tomorrow to its soon-to-be-adoring-public, i.e. the girls, and possibly-less-than-adoring-but-likely-to-be-impressed/horrified-by-my-mad-mouse-catching-skillz-and-realize-I-wasn’t-exaggerating-after-all-public, i.e. Maura and Frank, which will give me a nice vindicated feeling for all of thirty seconds. I mean, it is a pretty big coincidence–I happen not to be exaggerating (much),**** and then suddenly have proof on my hands? Not bad–nearly proof of Spatulaic Intervention. I mean, His Flippance may prefer to have a Priestess and Voice who is known for telling it like it is, and what better way to transform a formerly-thought-to-exaggerate priestess?
*Did I mention said mouse’s proximity to my darling, fresh-scented, lovingly folded, gently stacked rows of clean clothing? The only thing that might be worse: a mouse cavorting in a laundry basket of clean, unfolded sheets. The horror! Or, no: a shedding cat cavorting in a laundry basket of clean, unfolded sheets. Or multiple shedding cats. And make it sheets and towels. And add pajama shirts. Yeeek. I’m going to stop that train of thought before I get too horrified. Some of you think I am joking, I’m sure. Others of you know…well. You know.
**Leave me my illusions. For example, do not comment on how the mice could have been happily playing in my clean clothes for weeks, with me none the wiser, or how the rest of the family is likely nestled in there for the night even as I type.
***Why not? I’m not sure. Some combination of imagining the mouse coming right back, wanting recognition for my acheivement before I do away with the proof, wanting to show the live mouse to Audrey and Grace, and not wanting to let go of such an adorable mousie now that it’s at my mercy. OMG it really is so cute. Maybe I’ll take a picture tomorrow before I let it go.
****Okay, so I was exaggerating (if not creating out of whole cloth–or, at least, out of the responses and projected emotions of my audiences) my irritation as regards the mouse situation. But not the actual events of the situation. What do you want from me–life at its most boring, with me actively trying to bleed out any hints of conflict, emotion, grandeur, contrastive placement of subjects…?^
^Now you must be wondering about this whole story. But, yes, it’s true. As unvarnishedly true as is possible for me to offer, which is actually accurate by most standards, because in this case my sense of drama told me that unvarnished truth was the way to go. And you can trust that. Really.
