I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately, which I suppose is to be expected with our family of four adjusting to life in a garage. You know, no central air conditioning, tight living quarters, and, well, let me just put it this way… I’ve threatened to skin the feline members of the family and make furry little kitty hats out of them at 3 AM on more than one occasion.
Like when MysteryMan and I are woken up in the middle of the night to mysterious sounds emanating from the corner of our living quarters. After the cats brought a bat into the bedroom and released it in the middle of the night a few years ago, we tend to be fairly diligent about investigating mysterious cat sounds, um, quick like. Which is to say I went from dead asleep to poised on the side of the bed with the light on, a flashlight in hand, and a broom at the ready in about .743 seconds.
General inspection revealed two cats hovering over the shoe-pile, but after shining a flashlight in every single shoe looking for a bat mouse cricket godknowswhat, and coming up empty handed, we went back to bed to catch a few hours of fitful sleep. Dreaming of creepy-crawlies slithering up under the covers.
In the morning I went to put on my shoes and as a precaution I shook them both out. Then–despite a vigorous shaking with no ascertainable results– something made me grab the flashlight and shine it in my right sneaker.
Imagine my surprise when there was something starting back at me from inside my shoe…
You know your life has changed drastically when typical Sunday morning conversation occurs while standing in the driveway holding a sneaker that contains a mouse, yelling to your significant other who is up on the roof, and goes something like…
Me: Honey, just wanted to let you know there’s a mouse in my shoe.
MysteryMan: Huh. That explains some things.
Is there a place in the world where people still discuss current events over coffee and the Sunday paper?
Well hello there little guy. I actually don’t mind mice, which I regularly save from the cats and deposit into the corn fields. Kind of cute, aren’t they?
Still, I’m thankful for whatever sixth sense told me not to just stick my foot into my shoe Sunday morning.
Some days I feel like the universe is just patting me on the head with a sigh and saying, welcome to life in the country, honey. Get used to it.