Mouse Disposal will be addressed in a minute, but first, what goes hack, wheeze, snort, and kerchoo, talks with a very deep, sexy voice, drinks copious amounts of liquids, and occasionally moans out of self-pity? ME with a cold. UGH!
I'm much better than I was, though. Saturday evening I didn't even want to open my eyes. My head was so congested my whole face ached. My head probably hurt me more than my face hurt anyone looking at me. That is debatable, though. With a red, runny nose, dry lips, watery eyes, and my hair pressed to my scalp, I was not a pretty sight.
At least I had on my warm, fuzzy bathrobe I got for Christmas. It provided both warmth and comfort, especially with two pockets that held my cough drops and damp hankies. (excuse me while I blow)
Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, I didn't get much accomplished at the retreat--at least in the line of album pages completed. I rested, blew my nose, talked and laughed, coughed, read most of one book and part of another, snorted, drank tea, juice, and water, napped, wrote a post for my blog, enjoyed wonderful brunches and dinners, and finally made my way home to find a happy cat waiting for me.
How happy was she? She was so happy, she brought me a mouse. Oh, to be loved so much. I am probably deluded when it comes to discerning the affections of a feline. I am afraid the chubby rodent that Licorice so thoughtfully placed on my welcome mat has nothing to do with her affections for me. It is probably going to be her dinner later this evening if I don't get rid of it first.
I tried getting rid of one once before. The dead mouse had been granted permission to spend the night on my porch. My ulterior motive was this: some scavenger will pick it up before morning--a raccoon, cat, or crow. I was so wrong. At dawn's first light, the little thing, now damp with dew, was still where Licorice had left it, and still very much dead. So, with my jaw firmly set, I put on my oldest, dirtiest tennie-runners, slowly approached the critter, half expecting it to jump at me, and gently nudged it off the porch onto a pile of brown, soggy leaves below. A couple hours later, when I let Licorice in from whatever it is she does outside, the mouse was gone. Did Licorice find it? Maybe yes. Maybe no. Did a crow get it? Maybe yes. Maybe no. I don't know for sure what happened. So, for lack of evidence, she didn't eat it. Something else did.
Now, about the body on the porch. Licorice went back out, moved it from the mat to the edge of the porch, then wanted in--again. So, I still have the body to contend with because I don't want her to eat it. (I can look into her big yellow eyes, but the thought of her having mouse breath freaks me out)
I could (#1) try the old "nudge it off the porch" trick again, then kick some leaves over it. But then, I will end up dealing with a decomposed mouse when I clean out the leaves--whenever that will be.
I could (#2) scoop it up on a shovel and toss it into the tall grass across the road by the mail box. But then, I mow over there. I don't especially want to find teeny, tiny mouse bones in my grass clippings when I dump them. That isn't probable, but it is possible.
I could (#3) use my shovel to dump it into the garbage can. The garbage man comes next week.
I could (#4) use my shovel to put it in the pile of brush we will burn later this spring--a huge funeral pyre for a noble mouse.
Or, I could (#5) use my handy-dandy trowel to dump it in the toilet. You know the old "flush it" routine. That may work for a pet fish, but sadly, this mouse is way too big for flushing.
But, do I really want to defile my shovel? Scooping up dog poop is one thing, but a deceased mouse? That is another matter all together.
I guess I will put on my old shoes, and give it the "nudge off the porch" treatment. If Licorice finds and eats it, she finds and eats it. At least I won't know, and my shovel won't be defiled--just the side of my shoes. On second thought, I think I had better use a long stick instead.
Thankful that my problems are so mundane, and my cold is so much better,
Jan and Licorice Kitty (she is sleeping and probably dreaming of her mouse)
P.S. No wonder the little mice are so big and fat, they are gophers! Duh.
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