God Works in Mousterious Ways

by Mrs. Smith on February 23, 2016

There is a MOUSE.
In our room!
Right now!
Under the bookshelf.
10 feet away, max.
It keeps poking its cute, grey, furry, whiskered head out from under the shelf as if to mock me.

And me without a taser.

I don’t even know what to try to get it with. I have enough adrenaline pumping now to hit it pretty hard with… something… But what?
And will adrenaline fix my horrible aim? Because to actually hit it I’d probably need something really really big. They’re fast little buggers.
Would toxic-nasty bug spray kill it? We have some of that I bought after a centipede… well, let’s not go there right now. At any rate, I decided it would be a good idea to buy toxic-nasty bug spray. So I bought fully a gallon of it. Yes, I did. And it’s got a nice sprayer nozel on a hose thingy that would make it easy to spray under there.
But yeah. Probably not meant for mice-killing anyway.


Trap it? Yes, that sounds sort of possible. But with what?
And also – how do I do that from 4 feet away? #wussy
There’s nothing here but an empty Apothecherry box, a plastic cup, a hanger, aaaaand… mm, yeah. Nothing.
Broom. Yes! Brooms are long. And pretty big at the end. I could definitely hit it with a broom.
But if I go downstairs to get a broom, how do I know it didn’t take that opportunity to make a dash for my bed while I was gone?
Can I wake up a kid for that purpose? That’d be great parenting, I’m sure.
Child! Go down and get the broom. Yes, NOW. Just do it, okay?
Things you think of when you’re half-asleep in the middle of the night with a mouse under the bookshelf in your room.


Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, Mousey, do NOT crawl on me in my sleep. That happened to a neighbor a while back, and I simply could not handle that. No way. We’re talking years of therapy. Which I have already done, for the record, so yeah. Let’s not go there.
More whimpering…
a) Guess who’s going to get traps tomorrow?
b) Is it still there? I’d better check. Knowledge is power, right?
So glad we keep that flashlight in the top drawer of the nightstand. That’ll be perfect for shining on little mousies under bookshelves…
Aaaand the battery is dead.
Of course.
Thank you, children, so glad you did at least put it back where you found it, even if you did leave it ON. Sigh.
Have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.
What they don’t tell you is that you will never have another working flashlight. Ever again.
Fair trade, I’d say, for all the hugs and kisses and “I love you Mommy”s — but still. They should warn you about the possibility that you’ll want to mouse-hunt alone in the night and then have to do it without a flashlight.

Hello Mousey?

Are you there? I really don’t *want* to hurt you. It’s just that I have this thing about critters like you making problems, chewing wires, not doing chores or washing your hands with soap…
and again, there’s that epic story about one of your kind crawling across my neighbor in her sleep and if that’s not enough to make a grown woman perfectly capable of stunning/disposing of a mouse, I don’t know what would be.
Dagnabit, I can’t see under there. Moment of silence for the flashlight battery….


Are you serious?!
Is that….?
It IS.
It has to be.


<hysterical laughter>
My book! My beautiful, wonderful, marvelous essential oils book in which I had written the recipes for my blends!
I’ve been looking for that for fully 7 months now. SEVEN MONTHS of wondering where in the world it could be, coming up empty-handed every time I tried to find it, searching high and low (but apparently not low enough, ha!) — confident it would turn up someday, but really missing some of those blends and hoping they weren’t lost forever — 
And there it is!

God bless you, little mousey!


I seriously had JUST prayed for help finding this book not a week ago.
Let’s be honest: I’ve prayed for help pretty much every time I think about not having those recipes (and also, book format is so much better than info on a website for some things)
But not too long ago I did one of those trying-to-move-heaven-and-earth-PLEASE, come on, I know you know where this is. Will you help me find it? I mean, I know the house is messy, but I’m trying really hard. I am. I’m even tackling clutter/gross-cleaning projects that haven’t ever been done before. I’m motivated. I’m just human, too, and can’t do it all at once.
You know. That kind of prayer.
So God sent me a mouse.
Love it.
Yes, God bless you, little mousey, and now, God send you somewhere else, k?

I mean, the food is all downstairs anyway. That’s where I should think any respectable mouse would want to be. Hmph.



Those super-high-pitch-anti-pest-squealer-that-you-can’t-hear-thingies my parents sent me for my birthday last week!
I plugged them both in…
I bet this thing is coming up here to get away from them.


a) proof those gadgets might be working? maybe?
b) how much will it be to get one for every outlet in the house???
c) go get them immediately and plug them in upstairs. Like, use an extension cord & have one with me right where Mr. Smith should be.
This isn’t a fire-hazard, is it?

So then I have this great idea — 

I bravely pull out my oils book, knowing mousey is likely still back there…
And then, yes, squeal like a little girl as it runs out, across the ground right in front of me, and into the closet. 
I take it back, by the way. I don’t think I could hit it or catch it to save my life. By the time I’m done squealing, it’s on the other side of the room.

But I have my book. Totally worth it.


PS, Mr. Smith:

Why do these things always happen when you’re out of town? 




I’m sitting here wondering if I can really go to sleep with a mouse in my closet. Hm. I mean, it’s just a tiny mouse. Odds of it deciding to get up close and personal while I’m sleeping are pretty low, right?


Would it be really bad form of me to literally stay up all night because of this?
I’m not that crazy, am I?

What would YOU do?


At 1:30am.

With a mouse in your closet.

Well, Guess what!

I won’t need to worry about it any more because Mousey just slipped out of the closet, behind my bedroom door, and down the stairs!



And I’m calling this pretty solid evidence in favor of
(a) God loving me and wanting me to sleep, and
(b) those high pitch can’t hear it sound squealy pest repellant thingies actually do work.

Both conclusions will help me sleep better, I’m sure.

PPS, Mr. Smith:

Forgive the large order on amazon, Dear. There are about 20 of those high pitch sound squealy thingies coming our way.

PPPS, Mom&Dad:

Aren’t you so excited to come stay with us us this week?

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