Of Mice and Minn
You know how some people make those lists of "100 things to do in my life"? Well, I made one such list once, except that getting myself stranded on top of the refrigerator wasn't exactly on the agenda. It just... happened.
**
It all started one late afternoon, when a tiny squeak got my attention while I was in the midst of exuberant spring-cleaning. Ears perked, body taut, I glanced around furtively to locate its source. Seeing no evidence of anything with a tail attached to it, I resumed cleaning. Then, another squeak. Let me say at this point that I am the not-so-proud owner of several phobias, and fear of mice is one of them. The only mice I don't fear are the ones that dish up French cuisine and/or the ones that are part of one of America's biggest corporates. Any other rodent, no matter what its size or shape, sends me running for dear life.
The squeaks now came in rapid succession, as if to warn me that their owner was about to make its murine presence felt. And sure enough, a mouse came scurrying out of nowhere, and it was headed straight towards me with a missile-like precision.
Crisis: There was a mouse in the house.
And, what was worse is that I was Home Alone With a Mouse That Was Coming Straight For Me. (Some situations just deserve the capitalization).
Shrieking like a banshee, and flailing my arms and legs with needless vigour, I ran helter-skelter with the mouse in pursuit. Maybe it was as bewildered and paranoid as I was, because no logic can explain why the mouse chose to follow me -- a wildly gesticulating and screaming female -- instead of hiding in the nearest corner.
At some point me and my whiskered follower found ourselves in the kitchen. And, that was when The Contact occurred -- the contact that was to change the next few hours of my life. I can't quite recollect now how it happened, but I think I came to an abrupt stop and the mouse, in its complete confusion, tried to climb over my foot.
This was the mother of all crisis: The Mouse Trying to Climb Over My Foot!
Adrenalin took over, turning me into some kind of a superhero(ine), minus the shiny underpants or the Lycra bodysuits and, before I could even fathom the impossibility or sanity of my actions, I clambered up the nearest object with a speed that I had never thought I could possess. In this case, the nearest object was the refrigerator.
In all its white glory, the refrigerator stood in one corner of the kitchen without any cabinet or shelves near it that would facilitate scaling its smooth flat surface, but somehow I managed to climb it. I do remember that there was a small step-stool somewhere near, and I am sure I used that to assist my foolish (and dangerous) climb, but beyond that I cannot fathom how I managed such a feat.
Vertically challenged, I am not. But still, a fridge?! I can't even mount a horse without using a two-step ladder and we are talking about an entire refrigerator here.
Four seconds later, it dawned on me that I was All Alone at Home Stranded Atop a Refrigerator -- a 65" refrigerator, that, by its sheer size, seemed daunting to climb down from, considering my acrophobia. In the meantime, the bloody mouse, now freed of any screaming obstacles in its path, had made a hasty exit.
So, there I was, sitting in dark, fuming and cursing everything in sight, including the light switches and the phones which were understandably out of reach. My butt was growing colder, as I (im)patiently counted the fifteen or so years that passed in the span of three hours.
One more time to remind one of my pitiful state: I Was Alone at Home Atop a Refrigerator With a Very Cold Butt For Three Hours.
In most circumstances, I have no trouble enjoying my own company and being a hermit, but needless to say, one who has been stranded atop a fridge can't exactly be the best company even to their own self. Because, in such a state, one can only list in alphabetical order, all the foul words one knows. And that can only be fun for the first ten minutes until one has exhausted all the "F's" and overused "bloody" as a prefix.
At some point, I heard the key turn in the lock and with a surge of relief I realized that my father was home.
I digress to make a small note to all fathers and would-be-fathers: Parenthood can never prepare you for the moment of combined fright and amusement on coming home to a dark, silent house, only to hear your offspring's indignant voice coming from somewhere high up, demanding to be helped down.
He couldn't find me at once. Of course not. Ever tried looking for your missing daughter atop your fridge in a dark kitchen?
He helped me down in between fits of laughter and a string of "But, how's?!"
Never before in my life have I accomplished such a feat of athletic elasticity and dexterity, and never after either. If only the accursed mouse had pursued me in, say, Switzerland, I might have been listed in the Guinness Book for running up the Matterhorn in a matter of seconds. But, the only fame I got was among family and friends who listened to and spread around the embarrassing anecdote with much glee and ardour.
**
Disclaimer: No animals were harmed during this incident, but my dignity certainly was. Also, do not attempt this at home. Or, even in Switzerland.
Thank you.
(Images used from a clip art site).
**
It all started one late afternoon, when a tiny squeak got my attention while I was in the midst of exuberant spring-cleaning. Ears perked, body taut, I glanced around furtively to locate its source. Seeing no evidence of anything with a tail attached to it, I resumed cleaning. Then, another squeak. Let me say at this point that I am the not-so-proud owner of several phobias, and fear of mice is one of them. The only mice I don't fear are the ones that dish up French cuisine and/or the ones that are part of one of America's biggest corporates. Any other rodent, no matter what its size or shape, sends me running for dear life.
The squeaks now came in rapid succession, as if to warn me that their owner was about to make its murine presence felt. And sure enough, a mouse came scurrying out of nowhere, and it was headed straight towards me with a missile-like precision.
Crisis: There was a mouse in the house.
And, what was worse is that I was Home Alone With a Mouse That Was Coming Straight For Me. (Some situations just deserve the capitalization).
Shrieking like a banshee, and flailing my arms and legs with needless vigour, I ran helter-skelter with the mouse in pursuit. Maybe it was as bewildered and paranoid as I was, because no logic can explain why the mouse chose to follow me -- a wildly gesticulating and screaming female -- instead of hiding in the nearest corner.
At some point me and my whiskered follower found ourselves in the kitchen. And, that was when The Contact occurred -- the contact that was to change the next few hours of my life. I can't quite recollect now how it happened, but I think I came to an abrupt stop and the mouse, in its complete confusion, tried to climb over my foot.
This was the mother of all crisis: The Mouse Trying to Climb Over My Foot!
Adrenalin took over, turning me into some kind of a superhero(ine), minus the shiny underpants or the Lycra bodysuits and, before I could even fathom the impossibility or sanity of my actions, I clambered up the nearest object with a speed that I had never thought I could possess. In this case, the nearest object was the refrigerator.
In all its white glory, the refrigerator stood in one corner of the kitchen without any cabinet or shelves near it that would facilitate scaling its smooth flat surface, but somehow I managed to climb it. I do remember that there was a small step-stool somewhere near, and I am sure I used that to assist my foolish (and dangerous) climb, but beyond that I cannot fathom how I managed such a feat.
Vertically challenged, I am not. But still, a fridge?! I can't even mount a horse without using a two-step ladder and we are talking about an entire refrigerator here.
Four seconds later, it dawned on me that I was All Alone at Home Stranded Atop a Refrigerator -- a 65" refrigerator, that, by its sheer size, seemed daunting to climb down from, considering my acrophobia. In the meantime, the bloody mouse, now freed of any screaming obstacles in its path, had made a hasty exit.
So, there I was, sitting in dark, fuming and cursing everything in sight, including the light switches and the phones which were understandably out of reach. My butt was growing colder, as I (im)patiently counted the fifteen or so years that passed in the span of three hours.
One more time to remind one of my pitiful state: I Was Alone at Home Atop a Refrigerator With a Very Cold Butt For Three Hours.
In most circumstances, I have no trouble enjoying my own company and being a hermit, but needless to say, one who has been stranded atop a fridge can't exactly be the best company even to their own self. Because, in such a state, one can only list in alphabetical order, all the foul words one knows. And that can only be fun for the first ten minutes until one has exhausted all the "F's" and overused "bloody" as a prefix.
At some point, I heard the key turn in the lock and with a surge of relief I realized that my father was home.
I digress to make a small note to all fathers and would-be-fathers: Parenthood can never prepare you for the moment of combined fright and amusement on coming home to a dark, silent house, only to hear your offspring's indignant voice coming from somewhere high up, demanding to be helped down.
He couldn't find me at once. Of course not. Ever tried looking for your missing daughter atop your fridge in a dark kitchen?
He helped me down in between fits of laughter and a string of "But, how's?!"
Never before in my life have I accomplished such a feat of athletic elasticity and dexterity, and never after either. If only the accursed mouse had pursued me in, say, Switzerland, I might have been listed in the Guinness Book for running up the Matterhorn in a matter of seconds. But, the only fame I got was among family and friends who listened to and spread around the embarrassing anecdote with much glee and ardour.
**
Disclaimer: No animals were harmed during this incident, but my dignity certainly was. Also, do not attempt this at home. Or, even in Switzerland.
Thank you.
(Images used from a clip art site).