Sunday, January 2, 2011

Oh crud, there's a mouse.

I'm house-sitting for my parents for a little while, as they go gallivanting around NSW visiting various relatives and whatnot. Their house is quite nice. It's big, it's vaguely fancy, and unfortunately there are way too many cubby-holes for murderers to hide in.
Never mind that I have two dogs who would kill if provoked (especially the one with the crazy eyes), and that the entire house is doubly security screened (as I was, and still am, a paranoid child, my parents thought it best), I still wander around the house at night, systematically closing doors and creeping into rooms to avoid being murdered.
Daylight, I thought, was generally safe.
Oh lies.

I woke up (thank you, Glen) at 9. A reasonable sleep in compared to my now-usual 6am days.
After lazing about for an hour, I cleaned, and promptly made another mess in the form of a pretty-looking strawberry shortcake. I had Pride and Prejudice on. I felt thoroughly domestic.
But suddenly, the dulcet tones of Mr Darcy were drowned out by an emphatic scratching.
I, of course, instantly thought Murderer!and/orDemon!. A quick Google proved me wrong. We have a mouse in the roof. Or the wall. It's scraping around somewhere. I haven't seen or heard a mouse in here since before we renovated... and when we renovated, we got beams put in that were coated in poison for such an occasion. So the mouse will eventually kick the bucket. I now, however, am paranoid that it'll burst through the ceiling like Nagini through the corpse of Bathilda Bagshot, so am hiding in the kitchen peering out occasionally at the TV.

As I'm writing this, the mouse is silent. I shouted at it a couple of times to shut up, and apparently it listened.
Case in point, mice understand English.
Dogs understand Spanish. (Unless you're Tuscany, then you understand anything so long as there's food involved.)
Even though the mouse is mute (and ergo, potentially dead) I am still a bit nervous to run to the couch and continue my viewing. It's darn frightening. Picture, if you will, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I (worst decision ever to separate the two. Curse you marketing ploys). Harry has just cursed Nagini to the netherworld, to his mind. There's some tense music, carefully typed out as such in the subtitles. AND NAGINI TEARS THROUGH THE AIR LIKE SHE RIPPED THROUGH POOR MS BAGSHOT'S PAPERY SKIN AND AIMS FOR HARRY'S FACE.
Nagini was not to be slayed by a simple curse. Just like I don't think the mouse was slayed by my urges for it to shut up and it was so depressed it ate through a beam in a completely irrelevant place. We need a Neville to slash that mouse to ribbons with the sword of Gryffindor.

Anyway, a quick paranoid post as I have barely posted in two months.
And happy New Year, everyone! I hope you all have a blast and such. Or... had. If you're of a hemisphere not my own, I hope your hangovers are gently nursed.

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