Liza the Brave

Yesterday morning I was sitting in my favorite chair sipping tea and feeling at peace with the world. My pup, Cody scratched on the door and I let him in paying little attention to the clump of soggy vegetation he had in his mouth.

As I went back to my chair, Cody deposited a large leaf on the floor then stretched out for a nap. I idly studied the leaf, it was red in the middle with brown tips. I decided it was a Maple and it was probably staining the rug.

I went to pick it up but as I reached for the stem I realized it was a long, skinny tail. I looked more closely, the autumn hue I'd been admiring was guts and the brown leaf tips were claws. It was a mangled, half-eaten mouse!

I must pause for a moment to explain my feelings about mice. Not only do I cringe at the thought of a them, I go into screaming-meemie-hysterics if I even suspect there might be one in my house.

I needed to act fast before the fleeing portion of my fight or flight instinct kicked into overdrive. With bare fingers, I lifted the rodent by the tip of its tail. I dangled it at arms-length as I walked through the kitchen, dropped the disgusting remains in the waste basket, slammed the lid, then scrubbed my hands so hard the skin almost came off.

I returned to my chair and tried to feel proud of myself for walking into my fear but my revulsion was too strong to let me feel anything but grossed out. After giving myself a stern lecture about how courageous I'd been, I went to make lunch.

I rolled some cheese into a pita bread and went to stick it in the microwave. The microwave next to the waste basket with the dead mouse in it! I made myself breathe deeply while after-shocks of disgust wracked my body.

When I tried to eat the sandwich the oozing melted cheese almost made me barf. All I could think of was that dead mouse. I needed to get the damn thing as far away from me as possible.

I grabbed the plastic bag out of the waste basket, ran it out to the trash can in my garage, and threw it in. I locked down the heavy duty lid to prevent the mouse from escaping if it had a spontaneous healing, then hurried back into the house to wash my hands Lady MacBeth style - over and over and over - until I felt that I'd removed any airborne mouse cooties that may have gotten on me.

Now I'm worried. Are there mice outside my house trying to get in? And what about Cody? He's a mixed-mixed breed. Does he have some kind of mouser in him? Will he continue to hunt rodents and bring them to me? Will he get tape worms from eating mice? Or die if he chews on a mouse that has recently been dining on D-Con?

These are a lot of questions for which I have no answers but of one thing I am certain; that dog is never going to lick me again.

I Been Had

I am a person who has no business having two blogs. But I do. Why? Because one is for recording my deep and often captivating thoughts (that's this one, by the way.) The other, City Slicker on a Country Road, documents my amazing experiences as an Appalachian Mountain-girl wannabe.

Now, here is the hard part to admit in a public forum: neither one of my blogs is read by anyone. Well, hardly anyone. A big week for me is two hits.

So, this morning as I responded to an email from a friend who had commented on my recent blog entries, advising him he is one of my only readers, I got an email from Blogger. It was a comment to one my older blogs. From a complete stranger!

"You write very well," the person said. I couldn't believe my eyes! The timing was perfect. I quickly sent a p.s. to my friend and told him I now have two readers.

Then I went to the blog that was commented on, as I read it my head began to swell. It was pretty good. I modestly thanked the sender in the comments section. Then I decided to snoop. Who was this secret admirer?

It was an insurance company! Yep. The link to this person took me straight to a site that is all about the good deals that can be had if one purchases this particular brand of insurance.

I am deflated. I had to send a p.s. to my p.s. advising my friend he is back to being my only reader. What a let down.

A Room by Any Other Name...

Today I got a gigantic urge to show the world my absolute favorite room in my house. I sometimes call it my reading room or, when I'm in a more formal frame of mind, The Library. It's dark without being dingy, and while the wood paneling is knotty pine rather than mahogany, I still think it gives the room tone.

I realize as far as urges go, posting a picture of a room seems pretty lame. So, rather than trying to convince you of the merits of this room, (and therefore, of this blog entry) I'll post the photograph and be done with it. Except, well, seriously....



...waddya think? Is that a humdinger of a room or what?