Retail Therapy

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We.are.going.shopping!

Ollie's Big Adventure

Last night was fun.

Not.

I was getting the house put to bed, you know, locking up and turning out lights when there was a crash in the kitchen. One of those "oh crap, something's just broken into a million little pieces and it's probably your favorite ugly lime-green coffee cup" crashes.

The crash was followed by our youngest cat, Ollie, streaking through the house like his tail was on fire. He'd somehow jettisoned a full sugar bowl across the counter. Kaboom.

Sigh. Out with the vaccuum cleaner.

Suck up contents of ex-sugar bowl. Put away vaccuum. Go find Ollie.

Locate Ollie. Ollie has a m.o.u.s.e. He is very possessive of his little toys friends. We have five yes five cats. No self-respecting mouse should even consider stepping their nasty little ugly scary feet in this house.

We had a minor population explosion of mousies last winter. Even one-eyed Luna and fat cat Rosie managed to bag themselves a mouse and act all hunter-ish and proud of themselves. Earned their keep, they did. More than decorative, they were. Grrr. Mighty hunters.

Last winter, Ollie's first two mice were dispatched without a lot of fuss on his part. Find 'em, kill, 'em, get mad when we'd Mr. Sweetie would take it away and throw it in the garbage. Outside. As far away as possible from me. I'm far too busy screaming and standing on chairs.

Ollie figured out that dead mice made for a really short game. He decided to play catch-and- release. Catch a mouse, run through the house with it clenched in his jaws, drop it in a room where he'd never catch it again, and watch the Food Lady scream.

Last night was no different. Except that he did manage to catch it a second time. Mr Sweetie had had several many a couple of beers and was all wrapped up in talking to his buddy online. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on Ollie and his toy friend but he was having some difficulty in understanding his obligation to do so.

"Where's Ollie and the mouse?", said the chickenshit I.

"Well you know if I go chasing him he'll hide and he'll drop the thing and you'll scream louder." , he said.

'THAT WASN'T THE QUESTION. WHERE ARE THEY RIGHT NOW."

He heaved himself out of his chair and pretended to go looking for them.

"I DON'T WANT YOU TO FIND THEM. I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHERE. THEY. ARE."

"Oh. I dunno. Want me to go find them?"

Communication skills are seriously lacking here.

Crash bang in the bathroom. In the tub. Ewwww. I'll never take a bath again. Ewwwww. There's a mouse in my TUB.

ewwww ewww ewww.

Then I saw it. The answer to my phobia prayers. The vaccuum cleaner. With a 6-foot-long hose thing attached to it. And a three-foot metal wand. Desperate times, desperate measures. Turn on the vaccuum. March into the scary bathroom. Aim shoot suck running mouse into vaccuum. Run screaming. Mr Sweetie to the rescue, takes vaccuum bag out of vaccuum and tosses it out in the garbage pail.

Funny. I didn't know he knew how to turn the vaccuum off, or take the bag out. Hmmm. Maybe he's smarter than he lets on when it comes to technical things like the dishwasher. Hmmmm.

Ollie is still mad at us for kicking his friend out. Just wait till next time.

Ewwwwwwwwwwww.