Something is ALIVE in my bathroom. Two nights ago, I woke up and rested on my elbows, listening in the dark. The logic side of my brain reassured the creative side that porcelain clown dolls were NOT forming up in my tub, preparing to attack. I needed a Marine, pronto.
“Probably the trashcans outside,” Hubby mumbled. “Raccoons.” I chose to grasp onto the image of a family of cartoon raccoons, giddily tying napkins around their necks and digging into a Costco rotisserie chicken carcass below the window. I drifted back to sleep, happy for those little guys.
The next morning, the trashcans were upright, lids securely closed. “Probably squirrels on the roof,” said the Marine who was quickly losing credibility. “Or bats.”
Last night I woke Hubby again. He agreed that, yes, this sound seemed to be coming from inside the house. “We’ll set some mouse traps,” he sighed. “Just a little field mouse trying to come in now that the weather is cool.”
As he slumbered, I stared into the darkness, my eyes the size of dinner plates. I scrolled through the possibilities. What if a homeless person had taken up nighttime residence in my bathroom? (Didn’t that happen on an episode of 90210 and then the kids invited him to Thanksgiving dinner? Would I have to be that cordial?) What if someone in the neighborhood flushed a baby alligator that now lived in my hamper and skinny dipped in my toilet?
At the crack of dawn, my Marine trudged off to the Pentagon to fight America’s wars with PowerPoint slides and heavily edited words. Seconds after the garage door closed behind him, the rabid squirrel/possessed demon recommenced construction, this time almost certainly inside the tiny bathroom closet. I imagined it in there, draping itself with my Costco toilet paper.
My thoughts drifted to the previous morning when a friend and I walked on a wooded path and a dead bat fell right at my feet. Laura screamed and bolted but I screamed and stood still, stunned. Later, I googled, “Is a dead bat a bad omen?” I discovered that I’m not the first person to ask the question, and also, yes. I found comfort that at least the dead bat encounter hadn’t happened on my wedding day.
With deceased bat on the brain, I grabbed my pink mace canister and backed out of the room, noiselessly closing the door.
At breakfast, I told my teen that we might have a mouse in our bathroom closet.
“Yeah, right,” she laughed over a mouthful of bagel. “One mouse.”
It is possible for a mouse to live alone, I told her. An introverted mouse.
“Well, I hope you find her before she has a bunch of babies in your closet,” she said. That realist and her brother went off to school, and now it’s just me, my unbrushed teeth, my mace, and the creature in my bathroom.
*Note* I’ve been absent from this blog for too long. I took the summer “off” - somewhat unintentionally, due to the lure of kids, popsicles, movie marathons, and outdoor adventures. I missed it and I missed you – thanks for sticking around!