Musophobia

... that is, the fear of mice and rats.  I've got it.  I'm pretty sure.

I promised that I would tell you the story about a mouse in our house.  It may not be a particularly frightening (or even interesting) story for the rest of you that don't share my phobia, but I'm telling it here in hopes that I will be able to read it and laugh at myself, and somehow that will make this silly fear go away.

I do consider myself a reasonably calm person about most things, but, try as I may, I never seem to be able to talk myself down from sheer panic around mice.  If you really want to give me a heart attack, just throw a rat in my direction.  I really don't know how this irrational fear developed.  Perhaps it was when I house-sat in college at a place that was overrun with mice-- I would see three or four of them at a time dart across the floor as I was sitting in bed reading at night.  Perhaps it was when M and I lived in a house that had rats in the basement and we could hear them crawling around in the walls at night.  Perhaps it was the time I was home on a college break at my folks' house, and in the middle of the night I woke up to the sound of a mouse trap snapping in the kitchen, followed by the sound of the half-dead mouse dragging himself across the floor, trap and all, towards the living room where I was sleeping.

All of those experiences probably sound like a piece of cake for you normal human beings who don't mind rodents.  In fact, some of you may even like them.  But not me.  I am the stereotypical housewife who stands on the chair and screams until her husband comes home.

The problem that night was... my husband was not home.  This was the one night in many, many months when he had decided to take some "guy time" and attend a concert with a friend.  He never, ever takes time for himself, and I was so happy he was going to have some.

Until I brought the vacuum cleaner upstairs (we keep it in the basement).  I had just put C to bed and was going to vacuum up the crumbs from dinner while the bigger girls watched some TV in their pajamas.

I don't even know where that little guy came from, but obviously he was inside the vacuum somewhere.  All I know is that I saw what looked liked a brown furry ball roll out from under the vacuum and towards the wall.  When I realized it was a mouse, I screamed. Loudly.  Mr. Mouse ran under the couch.

Silly right?  The girls were terrified.

I can't explain the physical response in my body-- that amount of panic should not be felt unless there is an armed robbery going on.  In a teary voice, I told the girls there was a mouse and I ordered them to come away from the couch (where they were watching TV) and join me in the kitchen so I could shut the door.  N immediately started crying and ran to me, but L just jumped up on the couch and was too terrified to move.  I leaned in from afar and swept her away off the couch.  We all came into the kitchen and slammed the door.

I grabbed my phone and we all ran into my bedroom to be further from "harm".  I stuffed a towel under the door and assured the girls that Mr. Mouse would not be joining us.

And then I called M.  There was a chuckle in his voice, but he knows me well enough to understand what a panic I was in.  He apologized profusely that this had happened while he was an hour away and promised to set traps when he returned.

I called everyone else I knew, in hopes of finding a rational soul who would talk me down from my panic.  I talked to a few people and gradually started to calm down a little.  It was getting to be past the girls' bedtime.

Of course, N and L were still scared to move after all my antics.  I tried my best to assure them and I said that we were going to "be brave" and cross the living room to the safety of their bedroom.  I had to carry them both and they were literally shaking.  I tried not to shake myself.

We made it to their bedroom and I shut the door.  I grabbed a flashlight and told them I would just check under all the dressers and beds to be sure it was "safe".

When I opened the closet I saw mouse droppings on the floor.  I shined my flashlight in the corner of the closet and guess who it was?  Mr. Mouse himself.  He scurried into the opposite corner of the closet as I screamed in his face and slammed the closet door.

Panic renewed.  The girls jumped into my arms and we bolted to the "safety" of my bedroom and stuffed the towel back underneath the door.

I called my dear friend Missy who lives close by and asked if she had any mouse traps.  I didn't want to wait until M came home in the wee hours of the morning.  I wanted to be able to assure the girls (and myself) that we had caught this little guy.  Never mind that there were probably millions more of them in the basement.  I just wanted this one gone!  L got on the phone with Missy and explained: "We have a mouse problem.  Mommy screamed and screamed and screamed."

Missy and her wonderful, understanding husband stopped by on their way out to dinner with some mouse traps, and set them for me as I put the girls to sleep in my bed.  I figured there was no way I could convince them to go back in their own bedroom now.

My sister arrived 30 minutes later (she had been on her way to spend the night with us anyway).  She did the wonderful duty of carrying the carcass of the dead mouse that had already been caught in a basement trap outside for me.  Oh, brave big sister!  We made our beds up on the living room couches and settled down to get some sleep.  I texted M to let him know the girls were asleep in our bed and that he could join me on the living room pull-out when he arrived.

But I couldn't sleep.  I kept hearing noises and seeing hallucinations of rodents scampering through the kitchen and living room.  Are you laughing at me yet?  Are you shaking your head at my ridiculousness?

Finally I moved back to my own room and snuggled up with my girls.  I dozed off and on while L kicked and shoved and laid upon me for another couple of hours.  When M came home at 3 AM, he too joined us in the bed.  I finally fell asleep close to 4 AM.

Promptly at 6 AM, C (who, as you remember, slept through the whole thing and was blissfully unaware and well-rested) awoke.  I got up with her and nursed her, hoping she would go back to sleep, but within minutes the big girls were up too.  My sister and I got them breakfast while M slept another couple of hours.

Fortunately, we had a really fun day planned at the Armory to celebrate Uncle Ben's birthday.  All was forgotten pretty soon.

M did a thorough search of the girls' room, and never found Mr. Mouse.  He must have escaped through a hole in the floor or a heating element, or snuck away when we weren't looking.  Since then we've caught lots of mice in our basement traps, and M has always been around to dispose of them (yay)!

I thought to myself, as we looked at all the suits of armor at the museum, what a "knight in shining armor" I have in my husband.  I really depend upon him quite thoroughly for lots of things.  It made me feel a little childish, but also SO thankful for him.  I try my best to conquer these fears and handle things at the homestead, but boy am I glad he's around to lend a helping hand.  And he doesn't even laugh at my sillyness... not too much, anyway.  :)

Thank you to you, Sir Kills-a-Mouse of the Castle Sugar and Spice.  May I never take you for granted!