Get a Grip

by
Jane Grau

My Mom, bless her soul, a true animal lover in every sense of the word, and earthly guardian of all God's innocent creatures, sat alone one evening at home sharing the telly and her comfy sofa with her cat, Tattoo. She was suddenly aware that there was another presence in the room in the form of a small gray furry creature speeding through the room with great purpose. That purpose obviously being to distance itself from the cat.

She hurriedly deposited Tattoo in her bedroom, shut the door, then proceeded to locate the mouse. Armed with a plastic Tupperware container and a large piece of cardboard (standard trap and release equipment) she began her quest. Stealthily searching in all the logical mouse hiding places, she continued to come up empty handed, or rather empty Tupperwared.

In a last-ditch attempt to locate the elusive little rodent, she got down on her hands and knees, and now with the added aid of a flashlight, methodically lifted the ruffle on the sofa and peered underneath. No mouse. As long as she was in this position, attained with some difficulty, she decided to look once more under the chairs, TV, etc., before attempting to return to her original perpendicular position. The added search was in vain. Arduously, with the help of a near-by chair, she returned to a standing position.

Having decided that the mouse was apparently safe from the cat, at least for the moment, she disposed of the hunting equipment and proceeded to release the cat from the bedroom. Having done so, she was about to settle back down on the sofa when she was suddenly aware of a strange lump in her slack s in the area of her posterior. It had not been present when she had risen from the couch earlier. She quickly returned to a standing position to investigate. To her great surprise, she realized that said protrusion was in actuality the very creature she had been seeking. On closer inspection, she discovered it was indeed clinging with a death grip to her Vanity Fair cotton step-ins. He had apparently scurried up her trouser leg during the hands and knees search and had shared the entire process up close and personal.

Now what to do? Realizing the possibility of the wee creature releasing its grip on her panties and descending down her pant leg to once more become prey for the cat, she quickly bent over and grabbed the bottom of her trouser leg and held it firmly shut. She proceeded to hobble in this position through the living room, laundry, kitchen, breezeway and out into the garage. Once in the garage, she shut the door, stood up and vigorously shook her leg until the mouse dropped out of her pants. It hit the ground running and scurried under the woodpile to safety, where, I'm sure, he tried to come to grips (pardon the pun) with his somewhat bizarre experience. My Mother, on the other hand, returned to watch TV content in the knowledge that with her assistance, one of God's creatures had averted yet another near "catastrophe".

©Copyright 2002 Jane Grau