Natural Born Killers

Juliette Lewis here. I'm typing from our slightly more put together TV room (now equipped with a brand new, fancy, shmancy, HD TV). Woody Harrelson is in his office. Our latest kill has been safely transported to the dump and we're just waiting for our next victim to scurry into our death trap.

In retrospect, I suppose it was niave to think that the mini mouse we heard a week ago in the ceiling was somehow seriously lost and misguided and completely, hopelessly friendless. But I believed this to be true. I tried willing it to be true and was happily living in this alternate reality created in part by the Man of the House. Unfortunately, when said Man was out one Sunday evening and I was studiously correcting papers at the kitchen table, I realized that believing our first mouse intruder was acting alone, was a foolish, foolish thought.

It sounded like a dog pawing at the door to get in. It was a distinct scratching noise and definitely coming from the basement. My initial thought was not "this must be another mouse" but rather, "who would've trapped a small child in the basement?" I know we have some empty spaces but they are certainly not for rent.

I hesitantly walked down the first couple of steps and the scratching stopped. I scared the beast. But my papers could wait. I was sure if I just froze, it would start up again. So I waited on the top step and waited until my muscle started cramping. Maybe it was just my imagination. Back to my papers.

I sat down an barely had time to get my pen back in my hand when the scratching started up again. It was definitely not my imagination. This time, I tiptoed as quiet as a mouse (honestly, I don't know who ever made up this expression) and hovered by the top step. There was something alive and unhappy in the basement and by my best auditory estimation, it was behind the door leading to where our water heater and extra refrigerators are. But what could it be. I maintained it was not a mouse because a little mouse would be able to squeeze under the door into the furnished part of the basement. Clearly this was an animal that would need sedatives and a pickup to haul away.

I shut the door to the basement, turned up the radio and tried to concentrate on mediocre explanations of the collapse of the Roman Republic. And finally the Man of the House returned. I told him there was a wild beast tearing at the door downstairs. He appeared neither surprised nor scared - like a true country living outdoorsman - and went downstairs. I heard some rustling, doors opening but no screams, scratching, growls or barks. Phone in hand, I was prepared to dial 911 at the slightest sound of struggle. But nothing. A couple of minutes later, the Man returns with a "nothing to worry about here."

Apparently, George had heard some more pitter-pattering in the ceiling, took a trip to Walmart, bought another trap and placed it ever so discreetly in the ceiling.

Fast forward to Thursday. I come home from work and notice a plastic bag hanging from the fence by the garage. Now my sister had an extra cable wire she was going to let us borrow and it's not unlike my father to be "passing through" and drop off some mail. And it is very unlike George to leave a plastic bag where it doesn't belong so I parked the car and went to investigate.

I must remember in the future, when a random plastic bag that looks like it could be garbage presents itself, and I didn't put it there to just leave it be. In the bag was another a third victim. Tiny, brown and forever stuck, just inches away from a delicious piece of cheese which hopefully he has gotten to taste in the afterlife.

I certainly don't want them in my house, but now that the numbers are climbing, I am not so sure why these glue traps are considered "humane."

I'm going to have a serious moral dilemma when spring comes and I want flowers and vegetables to remain untouched by the deer that I know graze in our yard when we are not watching.

Holiday. Celebrate.

I don't think I'm alone in saying that the end of The Holiday Season (January 1) is a somewhat depressing time. Sure there is hope and anticipation for the possibility and promise of the new year but let's face it, there is nothing jolly about seeing dried out, naked Christmas trees passed out on the front lawn waiting to be doused by the unforgiving heave of a big ole dirty plow. With the delicate, charming, twinkle lights snuffed out perhaps it's all just too much for some - those of us who still have the random wreath with a fading red bow hanging on their front doors. Spring is too far off to be thinking about and it's still dark when you leave for work in the morning and dark when you come home again eight or ten hours later.

Enter The Other Holiday Season - including such favorites as MLK day, Groundhog's day, Valentine's day and for some of us, the NBA All-Star game. For all it's foolishness with shadows, love notes and slam dunk contests, I've learned to love TOHS simply because in the darkest of winters, it's all we have. Much like the truncated February break that some schools, like JBHS have adopted. It's not a full week but if Monday and Tuesday are all I get then pop the popcorn, bake a cake for Abe and let's live Martin's dream. Sure, there is no benevolent man from the North to shower us with gifts nor a fuzzy bunny to hide from us some much loved chocolate, not even fireworks to dazzle us through these long, long nights. But these are considered holidays and causes to celebrate so celebrate I will. And you should too. Celebrate the fact that it's not just Madonna. As a species, in every nation, we recognize the need to holiday. Celebrate. Just one day out of life. It would be, it would be so nice. Here's to the Presidents, Punxsutawney Phil, and St. Valentine.

And then before we know it, it'll be time for our first annual St. Patty's day pool party! Cheers.

Mouse in the House

It's small, brown and very fast and has been spotted as early as our first morning here at the Estate. I first saw it in the garage on my way to work. It got startled when I opened the garage door. I saw a flash of brown run up the wall next to the door and dove into my car as fast as I could. As I was pulling out, it was defying gravity and scurrying along the ceiling.

The next morning, I tried doing both the mouse and I a favor and flicked the lights a couple of times before opening the door but alas, I did not wait long enough for the intruder to heed my warning call. A flash of brown darted from the back of the garage to the front and again I found my heart racing before 7 AM for the second morning in a row.

On the third day, I descending again to the basement. This time, I turned the light on, hit the garage door opener and ran back in the house to collect my things before venturing into the occupied territory. I reasoned he must have run out the open garage door and would realize that although the original owners had moved, there were new owners who are not pet people. I also reasoned it must be a he because if it's a she, then there is a possibility for babies and that's just too much.

Feeling quite pleased that my strategy worked and the mouse, while possessing super-hero abilities to run along the ceiling, was not smart enough to figure out how to get back in the garage. I did not see the mouse again for weeks.

My dad has been helping us transport furniture and supply us with essential home-owner stuff we have yet to purchase - puddy knives, sand-paper, etc. He and George were in the garage together and when I came down, it seemed as though I was interrupting them. Their conversation abruptly stopped and they had that "nothing to see here" look about them. Could it be, they were talking about how a new car might fit in the garage? Valentine's Day is coming up...I dropped the issue too and didn't think much of it.

A week or so later, George and I were headed out somewhere, I got in the passenger side door and he walked around to the driver's side but stopped and was investigating something. The mouse had reappeared. When I told him I hadn't see our friend in weeks. He confessed that in fact, he had. The creepy critter had apparently gotten into the bird seed which is what he and my father had been discussing.

I went back to sending morse code messages in the morning.

The other night we are watching TV in the basement (since the coffee table we have finally ordered has still not been delivered) and we hear what sounded to me like a pack of raccoons running above us and not just a quick scurry - more like a jog in a park. I was up the stairs I think before the commotion stopped. It took a while for me to come back down but George assured me it was safe and that it was just our tiny, harmless, field mouse looking for some warmth.

We put some traps out today but I'm hoping I'm not the one to find him either glued to some plank of wood or stuck in some plastic box. I'll go back to sending my secret call in the mornings and diving into my car without looking too hard and anything but the driveway behind me.