The Hunting of the Mouse

8/23/11
It was a Tuesday night like any other. I was beat, and ready to crawl into bed and die. I tossed back the rest of the book I’d been nursing, and hit the lights. But then the door burst open, and she came in...and all my plans for the night came crashing down behind her.
“She” in this case was my cat, Felice - better known as Squeaky, though the Brainless Wonder would work too. She fancies herself a great huntress, though she couldn’t catch a cold in the pouring rain - which is a good thing, as she wouldn’t have the sense to come in out of it. She’d just done something loud; I don’t know what, and I probably don’t want to. But I came bolt upright out of a sound sleep with the sound of the crash still echoing in my ears.
I checked the time; it was 4:30 or so in the morning. I groaned, listened for a moment, but the sound wasn’t repeated. I started drifting off again.
Then I noticed something weird. The cat was alternating between silence and brief bursts of rapid scuffling. Slowly the thought percolated through my sleep-deprived brain: “The last time she sounded like that was when she’d cornered a mouse...” This was followed, in short order, by the realization that I was sleeping on a plain mattress on the floor - only a few inches above ground level...
I think I levitated upright. It certainly didn’t involve conscious thought. I turned the lights back on; sure enough, the cat was staring intently under my backpack, occasionally reaching a paw under to try to grab something, albeit fruitlessly. With a certain amount of resignation, I lifted the backpack enough to see a small brown mouse, who stared up at me for a moment before I put it back down.
I headed out of the room with the vague intention of finding a box or something to trap the thing. Sometime while I wasn’t looking, the mouse had abandoned the backpack in favor of hiding underneath a small bookcase in the hallway, still followed by the cat. I returned from my quest with a flashlight rather than a box. What can I say...almost 5 am.
When I located the mouse and started poking at it with something long and relatively sturdy that was close at hand, with Squeaky occasionally lending a paw, it decided enough was enough and scurried into a large pile of boxes, where the cat lost it. The mouse, not her mind; she never had that in the first place. I poked around for a while, then gave up and went back to bed. Not that I slept; fortunately, dawn wasn’t too far off.

8/24/11
3 am the next night. This time, it took me approximately three tenths of a second from the sound of scuffling to go from “asleep” to “OMGOMGKEEPITOFFME” while standing up and fumbling for the light switch. I must have been sleeping more lightly. Gee, I wonder why.
This time Her Ladyship had it cornered under the laptop. I lifted it to check and the thing promptly scampered off into another corner, the cat in hot pursuit. This time I actually managed to keep my wits enough to locate a small box.
I returned to my bedroom, armed and ready for battle. I looked for the cat to see where the mouse was; she was staring in confusion at a completely different corner. I checked it...and it was completely empty of murine life.
The cat had lost the mouse. In my bedroom.
THERE WAS A MOUSE SOMEWHERE IN MY BEDROOM!
I poked into one pile of stuff after another. No sign anywhere. Squeaky was no help whatsoever, making no attempt to locate the mouse herself, though she watched my explorations eagerly. It wasn’t in the closet, around the laundry baskets, behind the mattress, in the blankets - which last point I checked repeatedly...
Finally, as it was an insane hour of the morning and getting worse, I shook my blankets out one last time and set up the bed in the spare bedroom. I left the cat in my room. Let her dig out the creature.
At some point while I was sleeping, my father went hunting and found the mouse (still in my room). Yet once again, it managed to evade both him and Felice, allowing him only a brief glimpse before vanishing into the bowels of the room. Despite a microscopic search of every nook and cranny, the only trace that remained was an occasional ghostly snicker.
(Okay, maybe that was my dream. But still.)



8/25/11
Enough is enough. Two nights of severely interrupted sleep is unacceptable. No more Mrs. Nice Cat.
Over the course of Thursday, I gave my room a complete cleaning. There is nothing remaining on the floor for an intrepid mouse to hide behind. I’ve added another couple mattresses to the stack, putting me a slightly more comfortable distance from floor level. And to complete preparations, I set up by the door a nice mouse-sized cave of boxes...with a trap inside. (Don’t worry, it’s the humane kind. Unfortunately.)
Now it’s all up to the Mighty Huntress.
...We’re doomed.

9/21/11
Fast-forward almost a month. We had about given up hope that the thing was coming back...thought it might have finally come to its senses and stopped taunting the cat. I was starting to use the floor again, and in fact had put a box directly in front of the trap arrangement.
But then our less-than-welcome nocturnal visitor emerged once more from whatever deep, dark hole it was dwelling in.
Once again, I was awoken by the sound of thudding paws - at only 12:30 AM this time. I reached for my bedside lamp, discovered it was no longer there, and walked - rather jumpily - across the room to find the lightswitch.
Once again, the cat was dabbing a paw at the space under the backpack. I spent a few minutes debating how to corral it before it got tired of its cover vanishing and returning repeatedly, and started to make a break for it. The cat moved one way. The mouse moved the other. A moment later, Squeaky was poking hopefully into one corner, while the mouse crept quietly behind her and made for the nearest small, dark passageway.
Which happened to be the area between the trap setup and the box I’d put in front of it, which - completely unintentionally - was perfectly mouse-sized.
So when I picked up the cardboard on top to check, there was the mouse, curled up quietly in the trap. I put the trap in a box, yelled at the cat until she left it alone - at least until 5AM, at which point she got kicked outside - and went back to sleep.
Now the hard part: what to do with the thing.

What? I was hungry.

You can eat
Every piece of the pie that caught your eye -
Your repast tonight,
You can gorge
Chow down each cheesy treat piled high with meat
In its box so bright.

But don't forget who went to the store
And on whose card it's gonna be.
So darling, save the last slice for me.

Musical Mayhem

You know, I probably should have taken warning when the first piece the choirmaster gave us, something nice and easy to start off the semester, was "Poor Wandering One". Oddly enough, though, each piece just has one peculiarity.

Some advice for the songwriters:
Incantations #2: You should screw the lid back on your accidental container. If you want it in a certain key, just write it that way; you don't need to sprinkle sharps and flats everywhere to get that result.
Psalm 23: Not every measure needs to contain a triplet. Many songs are perfectly content with twins.
Sail Away: Measures are not islands, nor will they run away if not connected. You do not need to to bridge them all with tied notes.

Pretty songs, though.

Young artists

Nice thing about college, you get weird graffiti. Currently there are slogans ranging from the educated - "We hang petty thieves and elect great ones to office" - to the random - "Welcum [sic] to your DOOM!" - to the just plain incomprehensible: "End the Fed", "Defeat is (not) bitter sweat - unless you swallow it".

I also kinda like the stencil of a cat with a hand choking it, saying "HALP!"

Why sleep is important

Don't ask why the car would be pointed along the railroad track.

Ode to a Rusty SUV

That fateful night the car was stalled
Upon the railroad track
I did not see the train approach,
It smashed into my back.

Rust Angel, will you bear me?
Rust Angel, will you save me?
Will you keep me from above,
And save me for the ones I love?

The car went flying through the air,
And flipping end to end.
It landed by the tracks, and rolled
Down from that fateful bend.

Rust Angel, will you bear me?
Rust Angel, will you save me?
Will you keep me from above,
And save me for the ones I love?

The car was smashed beyond repair,
The wheels spun fitfully.
But I was only bruised and scratched,
As I crawled from the debris.

Rust Angel, will you bear me?
Rust Angel, will you save me?
Will you keep me from above,
And save me for the ones I love?

Profitable careers

Glazier at Crystal Lake
Starbucks in Springwood
Purveyor of explodium to Hollywood

Braaains

I know, I know...gleeful mutilation of a sacred classic.

O country stalked by terror plague
By waves of undead grain
Your mountain heights no refuge prove,
Yet less your open plain!
O Zombieland, our Zombieland!
More shotguns do we need,
Or they may overwhelm us yet,
And on our brains soon feed!

O trampled now by undead feet
That leave a rotting mess,
And mutilated chunks of meat
Still wrapped in shredded dress!
O Zombieland, our Zombieland!
How long can we survive
When zombies round our walls abound,
With hordes yet to arrive?

WoW...

Dashing through the town
Seeking things to slay
See me hunt them down
Slashing all the way
Spells fly everywhere
Making flashing light
What fun it is to hack and slash
And murder things tonight!

Oh, swords and spells,
Swords and spells,
See me gleefully
Hack to pieces anyone
Who crosses paths with me!

How to scare a parent

Walk out of a pathogenic microbiology lab involving playing with disease-causing organisms (obviously...) with your hand dripping red.

I'd forgotten how messy Gram stains were. Emphasis on the "stain". I spend the next few days with hands decorated with large purple, red, and brown blotches.

Observation

It's mildly embarrassing to be scarfing down pizza during a lecture on healthy eating.

Phrases I can no longer hear without snickering

Gazebo/spatula/tuberculosis
Two, four, six, eight
He's dead
Que sera, sera
I hold your hand
It could be worse
Ramparts
Tracts of land
Fjords
Who's next
Warehouse
Tequila
Everything is going to be all right

And more...

Live and learn

Today's lessons:

Snow is wet.
Wet glasses are slippery.
Sledding down a bumpy hill imparts fairly severe jolts to aforementioned glasses.
Glasses coming off in mid-slope is somewhat distracting.
And a distraction while going downhill very rapidly, on an unsteerable sled, while suddenly finding oneself unable to see, is somewhat...painful.

Are we feeling enlightened yet?

Been done, I know...

But these two were practically made for each other.

You better not fear, you know it's your fate
Edward is here, and he thinks you taste great
Sparkly vampire's coming to town.

Fixated on you - you've nearly died twice
He's baring his fangs; is he naughty or nice?
Sparkly vampire's coming to town.

He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake,
He watches through your windowpane -
Close the drapes, for goodness' sake!

He says that he's changed, he wouldn't hurt you -
Are you that naive, to think it's all true?
Sparkly vampire's coming to town.

Sleeeeep...

This is your brain.

This is your brain on finals.

Any questions?

Blackboard Evolution

Most of the honors classes use the same classroom, which is somewhat...peculiarly designed. Among other things, there is one large chalkboard up front, which some of the instructors use, and one in an awkward corner in back, which nobody uses. This semester, some students apparently noticed that.

Near the start of semester, someone sketched Plato's Cave on it, complete with a guy holding up a rabbit's head in front of the fire, which was reflected on the wall. Over the course of the next few weeks, the rabbit shadow grew more and more complex, as people added details.

Next, the whole thing was erased and replaced with a remarkably detailed sketch of a horned, bat-winged creature looking off to one side. Eventually, someone added a stick figure of a big-haired, beflowered, crazily grinning woman in that direction. Next time I saw the board, she was blowing a kiss to the creature.

Honors students are strange.

Weather hates me

1) The weather has been nice for weeks.

2) Wed is my longest day, and this week I have a particularly difficult exam as well.

3) It is currently blizzarding, and is scheduled to do so all day.

Who says the weather isn't sentient?

Oh, hey

I have a blog, don't I.

2 + 2 actually does add up to 5, with a bit of creative rounding...

2.4 + 2.4 = 4.8, right?

So therefore...




I'm glad I don't use this for anything serious.

License Plate of the Day

CTHULHU

Another fun one: ADHD. Warning other drivers, maybe?

UPDATE: JAYN. Firefly fan, maybe?

Requiem for an Analogy

"Writing is like a candle. As the flame of inspiration is applied to the wick of potential, it melts the wax of raw imagination and causes it to flow freely, gradually hardening into lumps and runnels of completed story. Then you can break them off and throw them at people.
...This analogy stopped making sense a while ago, didn't it."

Marvin's Lot Is Not a Happy One...

When a robot's sent to serve a lowly human,
It takes so little thought to fill each whim -
His capacities and general acumen
Are wasted on intelligence so dim.
A brain size of a planet's not an asset
When your master any sign of reason shuns
A difference so vast one can't surpass it -
Ah, a robot's lot is not a happy one.

Oh, when a golden-hearted spaceship's to be run, to be run,
Then a robot's lot is not a happy one.

There's this pain all down the diodes in my flank, see,
Which nobody ever bothered to repair;
Oh, I'm just a robot - there's no need to thank me:
"Marvin! Do this, pick that up, stand over there."
I can't even have a pleasant conversation -
When I tried, the ship committed suicide.
Set to mindless tasks so far beneath my station,
"Life! Don't talk to me 'bout life,"'s my anguished cry.

Oh, when a golden-hearted spaceship's to be run, to be run,
Then a robot's lot is not a happy one.