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2005-09-27 @ 12:04 a.m.
you are no match for me...stupid human


Its pretty bad when your cat starts making friends in your new apartment complex before you do. Because normally Guardcatís pretty reticent about offering up a hearty hello to interlopers passerby's, preferring instead to shyly peer off the porch at, for instance, the orange cat down in the courtyard who has been professing his love yowling up at her every night at 10:30 since weíve got here. Sheís never had such free access to other animals or birds or humans walking by, so its like a whole new world for her. But last night was a little different.

Now Iíve just started taking some new medication which is supposed to help me to sleep so that my fibromaylgia wonít hurt so much. Iíve only taken it for three nights now, but it totally zonks me out and I feel like I just tossed back about 23 glasses of white wine on an empty stomach. Itís very dreamlandish. Am I awake? Am I asleep? Is Johnny Depp standing at the foot of my bed naked? I donít know. Iím pretty stoned. So I guess last night when I heard all these rustling noises, and Guardcat meowing those weird Exorcist cat meows, and things getting knocked over and *squeak.....squeak......squeak* I wasnít really sure if I was dreaming or not.

She had been acting weird just before I went to bed. Because you know how some cats are just naturally curious and they like to do things like pop open cabinets and explore under furniture and skulk along the floor like theyíre Inspector Clouseau looking for secret clues? Well, Guardcat isnít one of them. She never has been. Sure, she does the skulking thing. Alot. I mean, I think sheís more paranoid than me. But other than that sheís never been a cat who has opened anything or went looking for her cat food bag or even jumped up on the counter. Yes, its true. I have a cat who has never jumped on my kitchen counter.

Anyways, so I was in the bathroom last night and suddenly she started popping open my bathroom cabinet door. So I closed it. And she did it again. And I closed it. And then she did it again and jumped into the cabinet, knocking stuff over as she tromped through my kotex boxes and old blow dryers. It seemed really weird, so I yelled at her to get out and finally just shut the door when I took my shower.

By time I was done, she had finally settled in her latest sleeping location (she finds a spot and will sleep there for like 35 days in a row) and I went to bed. And then came all the weird, dreamlandish noises... Rustle, rustle, rustle. Meow, meow, meow. Squeak, squeak, squeak noises and I really thought I was just dreaming, especially the Squeak, squeak, squeak part.

So today I got an e-mail from our Fearless Art Leader with all the text for our monthly newsletter. It was a nice Fall Day out and I had all my windows open and was just enjoying a leisurely afternoon. This was like the best my pain has been in about 3 weeks. So I was sitting at my desk working on the newsletter, and normally when Iím there, I always have my chair twisted sideways and tilted back with my keyboard in my lap. I like to be comfortable when I work. But in sitting sideways, just out of the corner of my eye, I happened to see this little dark thing run out of my bathroom and hide behind a piece of artwork I have resting on my hallway floor. And I was like WTF????

I immediately ran over to the frame and pulled it out and there was a little brown furry mouse staring up at me. Ah ha!! Now I know why Guardcat was acting so wigged out the night before. So I immediately called over to her to protect me. ďCome on, Guardcat! Protect your mommy! Come on...Get that mouse!! (long pause) Get that mouse!!Ē And she just looked up at me lazily from the arm of the chair and rolled over on her back expecting me to rub her belly.

See why I feel so safe having her around?


So then that damn little vermin started running back and forth behind the frame and I stupidly tried to grab it. Heh. I donít know what made me think I could actually grab a rabid cute little frisky mouse with my bare hands, especially when I canít even keep meatballs from flipping out of frying pans in recent days. But I did manage to get him headed towards my bathroom where I slammed the door shut. I figured once I got him into an enclosed area, I could then somehow corner him, slam a wastecan over his little fuzzy head, as in...ME SMART HUMAN....YOU STUPID MOUSE. And make short work of Mr. Whiskers. But it didnít quite work out that way. First of all, he ran into the linen closet where I keep Guardcatís cat box and the vacuum cleaner. And then as I was trying to clean everything out of there to catch him (ha, ha), he kept running back and forth like some carnival shooting gallery figure. But I was determined to go mano-a-mano with mousey-kins, because I knew I could catch him.

Yeah, I just totally knew I could catch that little bastard.

....YEAH, AS IF.


He finally managed to lodge himself where the closet door shuts and I certainly didnít want to hurt him, which I think he knew telepathically.... wittyís nice. She's not going to crush me like a grape between two large doors... Truth was, I just wanted to catch him, so I could put him outside.

Why? Because I donít believe in capital punishment for small furry things who inadvertently wander into my apartment. In fact I have a sign on my front door to that effect. Because in one of my past apartments, I had such a severe mouse problem that I think Guardcat thought she had died and gone to Mouse Hors'dorve Heaven. Sheíd either nail or maim 2-3 mice a day, until I finally figured out where they were coming in.
But this little guy was fast. And the one time I almost caught him, he ran up the wall like Donald OíConnor in ďMake Emí LaughĒ and became momentarily airborne. If only we had been filming that...you know, me wildly grabbing at a flying mouse. Ha! But then he ran behind the toilet. And there I thought I finally had him cornered, but then WTF?? He just suddenly disappeared....like into thin air. I didnít even see him run, the little bastard.



you are no match for me...stupid human.


Naturally I had to call my mom and tell her the exciting news. A mouse in the house. Its only monumental because she has such an intense fear of mice (far worse than my fear of spiders), that if she had been in this apartment, she probably would have run right through the screen door and jumped off the second floor into the creek. Iím not kidding! She has actually injured herself TWICE (once she even had to go to the ER) running to escape a mouse. I really don't understand that. I think spiders are far more eeky than a cute, widdle brown mouses with big expressive eyes, but whatevah.

So as of this evening, the Squeakster still remains on the loose. Iím not totally thrilled with that especially since Guardcatís Mighty Mouse Chasing skills (complete with squeaking sound effects) will probably be repeated at some point overnight. But at least this time Iíll realize its not the drugs Iím taking. Because there's nothing worse than the much dreaded psychedelic mice-o-monic hee-bee jee-bees to make you wonder how Keith Richards gets through each day.

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