Just when I thought I had been through every wild animal problem in my house I turned up a new one. We’ve had mice, birds and even a squirrel loose in the house. The cat brings them in to play with them but then loses his grip on them somewhere inside the house and leaves us to deal with the problem. I wasn’t here for the squirrel episode but Beaven says he chased it all over the house. We had a bird loose on Easter just as I was ready to put dinner on the table. I thought the season was over; that all the babies had grown and learned to fly or run or climb or whatever they needed to do to escape getting caught in the first place. But Murphy brought in a mouse last night. I know you’ve heard me yak about this ad nausem many times. But what is different about it this time is that right now it’s caught in a glue trap behind the washer and dryer. And, even worse, it’s squeaking. It’s been squeaking all day.
Beaven has been gone all day and I don’t want to deal with it. Don’t want to wrestle the washer out of the way so I could get to it because, then what? Do I pick up this squeaking live and panic-stricken mouse? And what would I do with it if I did get it out? I’m not about to peel it off the glue. God, I can only imagine……what if the sucker got glued to me in the process? Then I’d have a live, wiggling and squeaking mouse stuck to me. They have made a lot of money off horror movies with weaker special effects.
The squeaking is really bothering me. I feel like I’m obligated to save it and there’s just no way I can do that. I mean, what do I do, wash the glue off it? It’s not like I have glue removal solvent in my bathroom cabinet. Especially the kind marked “safe for small rodents to breathe.”
My life is so quiet out here that small excitements like that become Really Big Deals. I know you’re sick of my mouse stories so here’s a new one:
I was telling someone a couple of weeks ago why I love to work with youth. One of the exciting benefits is the opportunity to watch kids grow up. What makes it interesting is that you never really know who you will end up with and I just love surprises. When I look back on my friends and my daughter’s friends, very often people turn out totally different than they appeared when they were young. A lot of times the fat ones lose weight, the skinny ones get fat, the smart ones flunk out, the popular ones become reclusive. You can never bank on what you think these kids will end up like.
But I was not prepared for the surprise I got a few weeks ago when I ran across my first transgendered friend. I’m not one to get shocked by much and even this didn’t register very high on my “Whoa!” scale. It’s not really any of my business, anyway. But the whole idea of re-inventing yourself appeals to my imagination. Knowing this guy was eventually going to change his name, I immediately nominated myself to the “Name Committee.” About the only thing I’ve ever been able to name have been my own two children and an assortment of kittens and puppies. So far, everyone in my family seems OK with names I have given them. Of course, the dogs and cats don’t talk so I wouldn’t know their opinions.
But what an opportunity! How often does a person get to pick their own name? I sent my friend a couple of ideas. One, in particular, was thoroughly researched and I thought a really cool name but I haven’t heard back.
Those who have read this blog enough to be sick of listening to me talk about the mice and birds loose in our house are also tired of me talking about changing my name to Trixie. And, every time I write about this I sit back that think, “Surely, this time people will actually start calling me this now.” And it never happens. Pope Benedict got to change his name and I’ll bet people can’t even remember his name before he became the Pope. Camilla Parker-Bowles got to become “Duchess of Cornwall.” I’m not asking for a lot. Just a tiny little nickname. I’m not trying to change my driver’s license or even my sex. You don’t even have to call me “Trixie” all the time, just once in a while; maybe when you’re in an especially whimsical mood.
That’s 700 words. I hope it was worth your time this week.
Your faithful correspondent,
More formally known as Trixie Belle Els