What the Cat Dragged in...

This time, the mouse was dead. And it wasn't Golum who rolled it around on the carpet; it was Bubba, a normally staid, mostly remote cat. He doesn't "talk" much, he does like to be held and scratched, but he won't sit on my lap. He surprised me.

In order to get the mouse out, I had to roll it through the kitchen with a stick (Are you kidding? I'm not going to touch it!). I had to close the kitchen door until all traces of the critter disappeared. I don't know if the cat ate his prize. All I know is it's not in my house anymore.

I understand that cats are hunters. I just wish they wouldn't bring in everything they catch or kill (including live chickens).

Oh, and the possum came back. I thought I heard voices outside last night, and I went to the back door to see if they were coming from my neighbor's yard. She's been burning leaves and whatever else for two days--the haze of woodsmoke hangs in the air. I went to open the back storm door, and the possum and I both jumped. I think I was the one who screamed. It went under the house. So I'm having to put the boards back in the door to keep it from coming into the house. Who would have thought that "country" living could be so perilous?

Sometimes, You're the Bug...

Yesterday was not a good day, overall. I'm sure, in retrospect, it wasn't worse than any other day I've had in my life, but it's not one I want to linger over.

There's the whole "end of semester" craziness, of course. Students who panic now when they should have panicked a great deal earlier--they are driving me nuts. How many times can I say, "Don't talk to me about grades during dead week," or "I won't read late work" before they listen? So, all this late work that I won't grade piles up, and they wait until now to mention it. Too late! I have enough to do right now; I don't have the time or the inclination to grade work that should have been graded a month ago.

So, yesterday morning, I went to the grocery store to get what I needed so I could hibernate this weekend, stay in and grade papers and catch up on things I need to do. I'm the "I'll take my groceries out myself"-type of woman; it's not that I don't want to tip the bag person, or anything. I just know he/she won't be carrying my groceries in my house for me.

As I'm signing my name to the receipt, the sacker starts putting my paltry haul into bags for me. I only had two light bags and a big bag of cat food, so I knew I could carry those out. When he asked me if he could take my purchases out for me, I said, "That's okay. I can do it." I came around the end of the check-out stand, picked up my bags, and proceeded to trip over the two boxes the guy had dropped at the end of the stand.

I didn't see the boxes; I didn't know he had dropped them there because I was not watching him while I was signing my name. He did not say, "Watch out for those boxes."

I went sprawling on the hard tile floor.

I guess we react to something like this the same way we react to a car accident--slow motion flashes of our lives up to that moment. I fell on my left side--my butt, my elbow and hand, and my left knee hit the ground in succession. I sat there for a few seconds; everyone and everything in the store stopped. I was soon surrounded by most of the employees, all of whom left whatever they were doing to make sure I was okay.

Well, I was in some pain, but I was more embarrassed than anything. "Are you okay?" I must have been asked that twenty times. No, I'm not "okay," but nothing is sprained or broken, except my ego! I limped to my car with the sacker guy carrying my bags. When I tried to tip him, he said, "No, ma'am. You don't owe me a thing!"

When I tried to get out of bed this morning, I swear I could hear my body creak. I was stiff and the bruise on my knee is purple. My left arm hurts, and I can't type for long before my pinkie and ring fingers go numb. Maybe I should call the store and ask the manager to file an incident report in case I need to see a doctor. But, I'm not the suing type, so I'll just take some more ibuprofen.

Okay, so that took care of the morning. I limped through the rest of the afternoon. When I finished grading, reading, etc., all the papers that my students sent me on Thursday and Friday, I sat on the sofa knitting.

Golum (you know him!) came scampering through the living room around nine or ten last evening, obviously chasing something. I was hoping it was a lizard or grasshopper, but then I saw a brown field mouse hop away from him. He brought a mouse in the house. I don't know if any of the cats have caught it yet, but I hope the mouse had the good sense to run out as fast as it could. I hate mice and rats; they are probably the only animals I don't have sympathy for. I don't mind if they stay outside, but I don't want them in my house. And I really don't need the cats bringing them inside.

I haven't seen the mouse since last night, and I don't want to. My only consolation is that I know the cats will get it if it shows itself anywhere inside. Darn cats.