Medley: 2, Mice: 1
It was a post-party morning at my place in Harlem, and this little story demonstrates just how incapacitated I was after the guests left after 1 AM.
After some very basic cleaning up, and switching the futon back into bed mode, I laid down "for just a minute" I told myself. I woke up at 4 AM, still loaded. I hobbled to the bathroom, peeled off the contacts, brushed my teeth, undressed and went back to sleep after downing a bottle of water.
The bottle of water was too little too late, I must report, and restless hangover sleep ensued. At about half six, Medley awakened me with a start; she was banging away in the corner, under the baseboard heater. My head was pounding. Everything for the two minutes following seemed to happen in slow motion.
Wham! Wham! She was throwing herself into the heater. I'd only seen her do this with such intensity once before. This was a different part of the apartment, but like the first time, she was acting much too violently for her to be just batting around one of her toys.
Christ, my throbbing brain thought. Not again.
But sure enough, she emerged with something that looked like one of her toy foam balls in her mouth, but even without my glasses on I could tell it had a tail.
I need to get up, I told myself, lying on my side, watching as she trotted heroically toward the foot of the futon. But my body wouldn't budge.
Please, god, don't let her bring a mouse corpse to me in bed. I wouldn't put it past her. Maybe she'll actually eat this one, I hoped.
She paused in the middle of the room. I concocted a plan: if she dropped the carcass, I could eventually pry my aching skull off the pillow, grab a napkin from the nearby table, pick it up and drop it in the garbage. Dead mouse in trash until morning wasn't such a disgusting idea for now, as long as I could get back to bed for recovery. I thought it was a good plan, one that I could manage, even in my current state. Medley complied with her end of the deal and dropped the mouse. The mouse, unfortunately, wouldn't buy into it. The mouse wasn't dead.
Mickey hit the floor and bounced as if made of that space-age superball rubber material, and Medley shot after it. I couldn't move. Medley pursued the vermin as it shot out of site into the bathroom. I heard scrambling; a BANG! against the bathtub, and then, nothing. I thought I really need to get up and take care of this, not even knowing who won in Medley vs. Mickey, round two.
Apparently Medley did. She came trotting out, victorious, and sat under the dining table, mouse tail sticking out off to the right side of her face like half of a big mustache, or in this case, mousetache.
Through all this, my skull was pounding. Ok, so I really need to get up. But brain... so heavy. Head... can't lift it. Only know horizontal. Just need to get up! I figured at least this time she would've killed the mouse. She had done it before, right? But again, I was dead wrong. Oh shit.
She dropped the body and again it sprang to life. It scurried away to the right, under the table, towards a corner, and discovering it had no place to go, turned right again towards my futon. Then for what ever reason, it made another right, so that it basically did a circle around the cat as she tried to pursue it. By the time she wheeled around, the mouse was headed back to the same corner that Medley extracted it from minutes ago. But Medley got a swat in, connected, and batted it towards the kitchen.
No, not the kitchen, I thought, but it was too late. Mickey's trajectory was perfect, and he found refuge in the fortress known as Gap-Under-the-Refrigerator. Medley peered around the large appliance for a while, and realised that the mouse had won not only this round, but for the moment, the battle. She climbed onto her blanket next to me. I reached over and petted her a bit, cursed myself for doing nothing, and fell back to sleep.
This is my and Medley's third mouse. I blogged about the first one in September. The second one was laying dead on the floor when I returned from Montreal a month ago, apparently not a suitable opponent for the cat.
This episode was kind of surreal and bizarre to watch. While I may have done nothing, it all happened so fast that I wonder what I could've done if I had in fact been able-bodied anyway. Oh well. My ideal hope is that this one was injured and crawled out of the apartment to die somewhere. In the meantime, I just hope it didn't get injured and die in the apartment somewhere, because rotting-mouse-corpse smell isn't the best for entertaining guests. It doesn't go well with chicken, anyway. I'll move the fridge tonight to see if I find anything.
Oh yeah, and my hangover subsided enough that I finally got out of bed at 1 PM. Yuck.
After some very basic cleaning up, and switching the futon back into bed mode, I laid down "for just a minute" I told myself. I woke up at 4 AM, still loaded. I hobbled to the bathroom, peeled off the contacts, brushed my teeth, undressed and went back to sleep after downing a bottle of water.
The bottle of water was too little too late, I must report, and restless hangover sleep ensued. At about half six, Medley awakened me with a start; she was banging away in the corner, under the baseboard heater. My head was pounding. Everything for the two minutes following seemed to happen in slow motion.
Wham! Wham! She was throwing herself into the heater. I'd only seen her do this with such intensity once before. This was a different part of the apartment, but like the first time, she was acting much too violently for her to be just batting around one of her toys.
Christ, my throbbing brain thought. Not again.
But sure enough, she emerged with something that looked like one of her toy foam balls in her mouth, but even without my glasses on I could tell it had a tail.
I need to get up, I told myself, lying on my side, watching as she trotted heroically toward the foot of the futon. But my body wouldn't budge.
Please, god, don't let her bring a mouse corpse to me in bed. I wouldn't put it past her. Maybe she'll actually eat this one, I hoped.
She paused in the middle of the room. I concocted a plan: if she dropped the carcass, I could eventually pry my aching skull off the pillow, grab a napkin from the nearby table, pick it up and drop it in the garbage. Dead mouse in trash until morning wasn't such a disgusting idea for now, as long as I could get back to bed for recovery. I thought it was a good plan, one that I could manage, even in my current state. Medley complied with her end of the deal and dropped the mouse. The mouse, unfortunately, wouldn't buy into it. The mouse wasn't dead.
Mickey hit the floor and bounced as if made of that space-age superball rubber material, and Medley shot after it. I couldn't move. Medley pursued the vermin as it shot out of site into the bathroom. I heard scrambling; a BANG! against the bathtub, and then, nothing. I thought I really need to get up and take care of this, not even knowing who won in Medley vs. Mickey, round two.
Apparently Medley did. She came trotting out, victorious, and sat under the dining table, mouse tail sticking out off to the right side of her face like half of a big mustache, or in this case, mousetache.
Through all this, my skull was pounding. Ok, so I really need to get up. But brain... so heavy. Head... can't lift it. Only know horizontal. Just need to get up! I figured at least this time she would've killed the mouse. She had done it before, right? But again, I was dead wrong. Oh shit.
She dropped the body and again it sprang to life. It scurried away to the right, under the table, towards a corner, and discovering it had no place to go, turned right again towards my futon. Then for what ever reason, it made another right, so that it basically did a circle around the cat as she tried to pursue it. By the time she wheeled around, the mouse was headed back to the same corner that Medley extracted it from minutes ago. But Medley got a swat in, connected, and batted it towards the kitchen.
No, not the kitchen, I thought, but it was too late. Mickey's trajectory was perfect, and he found refuge in the fortress known as Gap-Under-the-Refrigerator. Medley peered around the large appliance for a while, and realised that the mouse had won not only this round, but for the moment, the battle. She climbed onto her blanket next to me. I reached over and petted her a bit, cursed myself for doing nothing, and fell back to sleep.
This is my and Medley's third mouse. I blogged about the first one in September. The second one was laying dead on the floor when I returned from Montreal a month ago, apparently not a suitable opponent for the cat.
This episode was kind of surreal and bizarre to watch. While I may have done nothing, it all happened so fast that I wonder what I could've done if I had in fact been able-bodied anyway. Oh well. My ideal hope is that this one was injured and crawled out of the apartment to die somewhere. In the meantime, I just hope it didn't get injured and die in the apartment somewhere, because rotting-mouse-corpse smell isn't the best for entertaining guests. It doesn't go well with chicken, anyway. I'll move the fridge tonight to see if I find anything.
Oh yeah, and my hangover subsided enough that I finally got out of bed at 1 PM. Yuck.
Labels: daily grind, Medley
posted by Skylight at 5:21 PM
8 Comments:
Oh, dear god. I don't know what's worse: your mouse or the cockroach I found between the glass and the base of my kitchen table this morning. The kitchen table, of all places! I think he came with the Sunday Times. I lured the bastard out and subsequently smashed him to death with the Sunday Styles section. Wish you could say the same for that mouse. You're wise to look for the corpse because even though she didn't kill the effer, Medley certainly did a number on him. He's gotta be on his last leg, no pun intended.
Oy. Sounds like you kept going long after the combination of alcohol and Benadryl made me catatonic. Thanks to my own recent vermin incident, I have one of those Havahart humane traps if you want to borrow it.
PS Medley loves me for who I am. She thinks I'm special!
i just finished reading your entire blog. I am a runner sitting home with trochanteric bursitis- that is healing/healed. I "ran thru pain" at a race- and wound up in similar straits. I had to "give up" my dream of NY in 06.
I completely understand everything you have written about the "pesky" bursitis and the journey back. You arent alone!
Hi joann! Hope you enjoyed the blog. Yes, the bursitis is pretty-much gone, although I do tend to get a little stiff in the hip after my long runs now. You didn't mention the details of your injury, but it's good to hear that you're on the mend/mended. There are always other marathons; better to not try to run '06, than not be able to run any future ones.
bcg, mice or roaches: which are worse? On second thought, does it matter? They're both gross. Sounds like you did a real number on your pest, though. Nice.
sister smile, Medley really does love you for who you are... and you just keep telling yourself that. She's a cat-whore, I tell you! And I think she'd be rather insulted if I brought in a mouse trap. Really.
Ha! You weren't kidding about a bizarre episode after the party. I've been fortunate to be mouse free thus far, but now I wonder, will the cat in my apartment emerge someday with a rodent?!
Okay-Im a new at blogging so forgive me-I'm trying to decipher blog etiquette. I ran a half on an extremely inflammed ITB- the jagged knife at the kneecap. I didnt really run - I hobbled and stretched..hobbled and stretched. The WHOLE time I was thinking how tough I was. In hindsight- it was the stupidest thing I could have ever done.
After a few weeks of RICE- I started an aggressive stretching routine- determined to STRETCH out that ITB- and gave myself the trochanteric bursitis. I have scoured Dr. Internet- done the orthos..the chiro..the pts...and all the while- the pain would find me. Getting into bed every night- driving...weird times.
Anyway I gave up runners world. Couldnt read it- stopped looking at blogs..stopped thinking about running. Gained 5 pounds. Now the hip has calmed down- I am seeing a sports medicine PT extrodinaire and I have hope. My dream has always been ny- Im a native.
And so I read your blog- and others because you found your way back. And I hope to do the same.
Now it is just the confidence- I have learned to let go of a date or a race and just hope for the miles.
Thanks for sharing.
Joann (Irish)
Thanks, Irish, for sharing your story.
Yeah, if you read my blog, then you know that I also can relate to it being hard to let go of goals. Limping through the last 8 miles of a marathon is not fun. Stubborn runners, we are.
Funny you mentioned Runners World. I did the same: stopped reading anything to do with running. However, this month NYC inspired me and I've been devouring the last six months of magazines. I'm almost caught up.
You'll get to do New York. As long as you still have two functional legs, there's no rush. Just follow the 10% rule, and in the meantime, if you're thinking about it, blogging can be a good outlet for your frustrations. Keep me posted!
Hi - I found your blog thru Uptown Girl.
Very funny story. I hope that mouse crawled back and told his little vermin friends that there is a wicked beast (in this case a cat) in your apartment and to stay out!
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