Dead animals are not much fun.
I got up early this morning to use the bathroom....under normal circumstances I don't even bother to turn the light on or 'look' into the toilet. But I did this morning. And while I was not so awake beforehand, within seconds of taking a second glance at what was floating feet up, I can assure you I won't be needing ANY caffeine today....or tomorrow. Probably not for a while.
I usually put the toilet lid cover back down as well after using the bathroom. This will teach me to never ever leave it up, ever again.
I have never seen a mouse, let alone in a house, let alone in MY house. A Chipmunk, yes - as most of you witnessed from last summer. And that chipmunk was not in the least bit "metabolically challenged" if you get my drift! And I'm a clean freak, I don't leave stuff lying around and more often than not, I usually annoy family and friends due to my cleaning habits. Ask Gareth - both he thinks I am OCD when it comes to cleaning, and I’m sure my family wouldn’t be far behind that notion. . So why the hell THIS MOUSE, decided to come and die in my upstairs bathroom toilet, is beyond me!
Right when I think I've got the dry heaves from yesterday's melodrama with the dead cat in my car engine, done and over with, I find this! I was going to flush it down the toilet but after a conversation with Gareth he suggested NOT doing that as it may clog it up and I didn't want to have to deal with telling a plumber what stupid thing I did to clog the toilet up. It's not like it was a little goldfish. Gareth told me just to take it out and dispose of it.
Well, It's not like I can call the ME/coroner and have them come take it away in their little black van. So I did what any other modern housewife who's husband just happens to be 4000 miles away would do. (don't even think for a minute that had he been here, that he wouldn't be the one doing this!) I donned surgical gloves (I keep a box in the garage for my wood refinishing projects), heavier dishwashing gloves, snow-shoveling gloves over those, jeans, a t-shirt, another sweatshirt over that, socks and then finally boots, after debating about whether my air-force ones were appropriate dead-mouse retrieval shoes....and for good measure I put my hair up. I almost felt up to the task except I hadn't given any consideration to what I was actually going to fetch him up out of the commode with.
I went out and got the garden hoe out of the garage and when I got back upstairs with it, I discovered it wouldn't fit into the toilet bowl. I don't have anything else and I started to panic, thinking I was going to have to actually reach in and take it out myself. About that time I considered calling a pest removal company and then thought about it for a moment. I'd have to actually telephone them, and as it was still very early there wasn't likely anyone around to come and fetch the mouse until a bit later. I wasn't comfortable with having the deceased present in my home for much longer. Plus, what does one say when enquiring about dead animal retrieval...."Hello - does your company offer dead mouse removal? Oh, where is this dead mouse you ask?" And then I thought that Gareth probably wasn't going to be real pleased that I was about to spend money on something I could take care of myself and when I thought about that money and how I could probably go to Macy's later on this afternoon and spend it there, I figured that was the lesser of two evils. Besides, I think I deserve it at this point!
So, I take the hoe back down to the garage and am looking around for something, anything I can use to retrieve Captain Morgan from the toilet. I have since given him a name, feeling it's the right thing to do, as he's now spent the last moments of his life in my toilet, in my home. And I gave him the name of a pirate because he commandeered my toilet facilities without permission, much the same way any pirate of old would have done! And I live along the water where many ships have met their demise. It just seemed fitting. And he was a gray sort of mouse, not dark, otherwise I would have settled on Blackbeard.
So I'm looking for something to remove Captain Morgan from his watery grave and I spy the barbeque and hanging from the barbeque are a rather long set of tongs with large flat grabber things at the end. Perfect! Those will due just fine. And I can buy a new pair this afternoon while I'm out. I don't think I'll be using these again. I'll buy a new pair while I'm out getting more bleach to sanitize the bathroom with.
I go back inside and upstairs, but stop to grab a trash bin liner. On 2nd thought, I'll grab another. No, I'd better take 3 or 4. So I'm ready now to march upstairs and remove the dearly departed. Which I did do. But I didn't like doing it. And after which time I did a little "gross-out" dance around the entire area of the upstairs. Captain Morgan was now reposed on the bathroom floor on a bin liner. I needed to take a moment to shake off the heebie jeebies that removing him from the toilet caused me to suffer.
I did have a brief -but none-the-less terrifying "Stephen King" moment when I let my mind wander (it does this so easily these days) and thought about the mouse suddenly re-animating and coming after me. I pinched myself and said; "get a hold of yourself girl, just because you live in the same state where King lives and in the same area as a few of his books were set, DOES NOT mean Captain Morgan is going to come getcha!"... I also wanted to get my camera from my bags (that are being packed for my upcoming trip to the UK). Well ok, maybe taking a picture of the dearly departed isn't something you would have done, but this is me we are dealing with! Besides, now that I am writing about it, and feeling how cathartic it is, I'm glad I have the photo.
And as much as I'd like to give him a proper Christian burial, or at the least, send Captain Morgan off much the same way pirates of old went - just take him down the road and dump him in the ocean, I can't. Besides, I don't know what religion Captain Morgan was. He could have been an Atheist for all I know, or Muslim, Hindu, or Jehovah's Witness! So I am taking him to the dump. Not very prosaic, this I know. But it's what I'm willing to do. And I will say a few "our Fathers" and toss in one or two "Hail Mary's" for good measure. And now, before I go completely stark raving mad, (which as of right now, is a very short trip for me) I’d just like to send a general note to the animals of the area....
STOP COMING TO ME TO DIE!!!!
RIP Captain Morgan. 
