Spike's Bitches 33: Weeping, crawling, blaming everybody else
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
David, how's the wee noisemaker?
Squawky, grunty. Her two most common names around the house these days are Fussa and Gruntalina. Still cute though! For at least fifteen minutes after she's just been fed.
About how high could a mouse scramble up?
They're fairly agile. I'm sure he could climb on your bookshelf and jump on your head. Or perhaps jump onto your face while you're sleeping. You'd better sleep under a mosquito net. Or possibly hook counterweights to your arms and set them to wave your arms around in your sleep all night long to fend off wee rodent attacks.
Best not to sleep at all. Get a badminton racket, hunch yourself in a corner and drive yourself mad with sleep deprivation muttering "three blind mice" under your breath and then screaming the part about cutting their tails off. That'll scare him.
Wow, I'm going to make a terrible husband.
Not if you marry a cat.
And there are ways to get meece out of your heese that don't kill.
...or you know one of those humane traps.
They're fairly agile. I'm sure he could climb on your bookshelf and jump on your head. Or perhaps jump onto your face while you're sleeping. You'd better sleep under a mosquito net. Or possibly hook counterweights to your arms and set them to wave your arms around in your sleep all night long to fend off wee rodent attacks.
Hec is mean.
Once I woke up from a nap to find my cat walking on my head. Turns out there was a mouse between the futon and the wall, a few inches from my head, and my cat was walking all over my head trying to get it. That was the time I got rid of the wounded but still alive mouse. Unfortunatly, my cat didn't see me get rid of it, so he spent the next few hours franticly trying to find the mouse again.
I am on a bug hunt. Have been for a few days. We've got a bit of a moth infestation, it seems. The last several nights, I've murdered into the double digits. Catching them napping on the walls and ceiling is much easier than trying to squish them on the wing -- though they're deceptively slow fliers, they're agile buggers and they disappear eaily into the visual noise of a cluttered apartment.
Cash, I'm still blissfully on the other side of the Berlin Wall, as it were, but I'm also still nursing, so I'm probably not the best person to ask. I mean, I haven't
needed a pad since the lochia went bye-bye.
Hec is mean.
Yeah, well, sometimes. But that counterweight image is still really funny.
I think I just read too many kids books with mice protagonists to find them scary:
Ben and Me,
Runaway Ralph,
Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH...
I hate you, Hec.
I really, really hate you.
Especially because I don't think the mouse is hiding under the trash bag, which is the last place I saw it.
Unfortunatly, my cat didn't see me get rid of it, so he spent the next few hours franticly trying to find the mouse again.
I've seen our cat go berserk trying to catch a large moth flown in through the window (the ones in the apartment currently are tiny), catch it, eat it, then start frantically looking for the moth that he knows is hiding behind the pictures somewhere.... he saw it just a second ago....
Our cat is not bright. Pretty, but dumb.
I really, really hate you.
Well, I deserve that, I expect.
Especially because I don't think the mouse is hiding under the trash bag, which is the last place I saw it.
On the plus side, it's pretty much certain that nothing I say about mouse behavior is likely to occur. It is guaranteed that my mouse-ology is deeply suspect and by saying those things I have negated their possibility.
