Last night I was sitting on the sofa catching up with some emails. Ger was out of town, and the dogs were already sleeping soundly in the basement. The house was quiet, the only light emanating from a table lamp and the soft hazy blue of my laptop.
Then I saw it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it scurrying along the wall—disappearing behind the loveseat. Every muscle in my body tensed as the familiar feeling of panic flooded my system.
Breathe.
It had scurried towards the back door. Taking a moment to think clearly, I knew that if I could get to the door and open it—perhaps this could end peacefully for both of us. However, as I turned to grab my laptop off my lap, I saw it run back along the wall from where it had come from initially.
An involuntary scream quickly escaped my lips as I jumped off the sofa and ran up the stairs.
Breathe. For goodness sake, breathe.
A flashback of my first panic-stricken encounter with something similar flashed across my mind. I had been home with my two-month-old baby when a mouse ran right across my kitchen floor. As a new mom, I went into full combat mode and armed with oven mitts and a broom I cornered it in a closet, gave it a good whack and slammed the door shut.
Locking myself and baby in the bedroom, I watched my son’s chest gently rise and fall while my heart beat at a frantic pace. Half an hour later I summoned the courage to peek inside the closet and discovered that my broom swinging skills were above par. One whack had landed a deadly blow, and the poor thing had expired.
I burst out crying.
I’m not sure what my intent was, but I’m sure it wasn’t to murder a poor innocent creature. I spent the next two hours sitting on our front steps, cradling my baby and sobbing uncontrollably, while waiting for Ger to come home. Someone needed to process the crime scene and get rid of the evidence.
This time would be different.
This time I would handle the situation in a sensible manner. I was more mature now, braver, and dare I say, much more logical than I used to be. There was nothing here to cause panic.
From my new vantage point, I peered down into the dimly lit living room, scanning the area where I knew ‘It’ was hiding. I saw nothing.
With my mature, logical brain, I formulated a plan.
1. ‘It’ needed an easy escape route. All I had to do was open the back door.
Problem: I had already set the house alarm system.
2. Deactivate the home alarm system.
Problem: The alarm system was downstairs by the front door which meant I had to go down the stairs through the living-room where ‘It’ was and then down a short flight of stairs to the front door.
3. Grab a broom to use as a weapon (just as a precaution) and go downstairs.
Problem: If I go down to the front door leaving the steps to the upstairs exposed, ‘It’ might scurry up to the bedrooms and I’d have to find a hotel room for the night.
4. Barricade the up staircase with the doggy gate. Cover gate with a heavy blanket because the gate has holes (feeling pretty good with my problem-solving skills.)
Problem: Nope.
5. Jump over the barricade, run downstairs waving broom, deactivate the alarm, run back upstairs into living-room, open back door, jump back behind the barricade, and breathe.
Problem: No problem, you’ve got this.
Back behind the barricade, I knew that all I had to do now was to convince ‘It’ that things were much safer outside in the cool darkness of night than inside in the warmth with me as it’s a companion.
Commence the second phase of the plan.
1. Make a noise to scare it out of hiding.
Problem: Screaming “Get out” with the back door wide open is probably not wise when you live downtown, and your neighbours are too close for comfort.
2. Turn on all the lights.
Problem: Living-room does not have a ceiling light. Table lamps—although great for reading and watching telly—do nothing to illuminate dark corners.
3. Throw stuff.
Problem: Searching my pockets I only had a pen and a Chapstick which I hurled in ‘It’s general direction.
Foreseeable Problem: Probably need to draw the line at emptying the entire kitchen utensil drawer.
Forty minutes had passed since I first saw ‘It’ and exhaustion had hit hard. I was ready for bed, but there is no way I could leave the current situation as is and have any hope of sleep. Realizing that the situation needed to be rectified as soon as possible, I vaulted over the barricade (truthfully it was more of a cautious climb while trying not to trip over the broom I still had clenched in one hand.)
Exhaustion had morphed into bravery (and increased my level of insanity.) I wielded my broom like Arya Stark wielded her sword. I stabbed under the sofa, loveseat, chair, and behind the curtains. I used my cellphone flashlight and lit up every inch of darkness, scanning the room like The Terminator.
I found nothing.
Could ‘It’ have escaped out the door while I was searching for things to throw?
It was a possibility, and one I was willing to consider now that it was clearly past my bedtime. Another thorough scan around the room was enough to satisfy me. I desperately needed sleep.
I closed the back door and went downstairs to activate the alarm while keeping my eyes and wits about me. I decided to leave the barricade in place as one can never be too sure when it comes to situations like these. Better to be safe than sorry as they say.
To show I meant business, I left my broom in front of the gate as a warning.
I closed the bedroom door behind me and placed a heavy blanket along the bottom of it just in case. Finally, I felt like I could breathe again. I knew there was a possibility that I would need to deal with ‘It’ in the morning, but for now, I was safe.
Leaning forward to turn on my bedside lamp, I stood up quickly, and as I turned my head to the left, I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw ‘It,’ and I froze.
But something wasn’t right.
Turning my head to the left and then the right, I suddenly realized that ‘It’ was merely a loose curl that had unknowingly escaped the confines of my ponytail elastic.
Sigh.
