Last night, I had a hard time falling asleep and to make things worse, every time I got to that sweet, slightly hallucinatory sleepy drugged place, what I thought was Buster bumping our bedroom door kept bringing me back to full-on consciousness. He's been sleeping right outside our door and I've put a rug down for him because he's old and if that's where he wants to spend his last days (or more likely, years) then that's fine with me. But the sound was annoying me so I got up and moved him and the rug away from the door. He didn't even wake up. Neither did Mr. Moon who was sleeping as soundly as a brick.
I went back to bed. The sounds continued. I felt like something had run across my hand. I heard bumping sounds, I heard what I SWEAR was the tiny tinkling of a bell. Somewhere nearby. More bumping sounds. Mr. Moon not waking up. Me on hyper-alert mode, sleep not even an option. Finally, a crashing sound. I mean a CRASH! Still, my husband did not even stir. Was the man even alive? I shook him awake.
"Baby, I'm sorry but there's something in this room."
I honestly thought it was a bat because I definitely heard something crashing into what I thought was the glass shade on an antique oil lamp on the mantle and then right after that, crash into what sounded like my vanity. You know the sound, the timbre of the wood of your own furniture and to me this sounded like my vanity.
Mr. Moon came awake, groggily and slowly. "What?"
I explained again. Something. Flying around. In the room. Crashing into things.
I turned on my light. He turned on his light.
"I see it," he said. "A rat."
"No, no. " He corrected himself. "No. It's just a mouse. Just a mouse."
He got out of bed. He went and got the broom. He beat the broom about and tried to flush the rat/mouse out into the open where he could do something about it. The rat/mouse was wily and did not become flushed. We decided to just try and go back to sleep. I was not afraid of a mouse or a rat and by now it was almost two o'clock. Surely...sleep would come.
Mr. Moon fell back asleep instantly. He was so tired. The sounds began again. Finally, another crash, this one so loud it woke my husband. Again he tried to locate the vermin. No luck. We decided to move back into the old bedroom. This required toting pillows, the fans, the alarm clock, unplugging, replugging, resetting, resettling.
Then my poison ivy began to itch. I tried to ignore it. I couldn't. I scratched so hard I almost bled. It was like heaven. Is there ANYTHING that feels better than scratching poison ivy? For a little while. Then the pain. And the itching continues.
And then...AND THEN! I started to hear little bumping noises in that room too. Perhaps the smaller sister of the rat/mouse who is obviously now living in the old bedroom.
I didn't even bother to wake up my husband. What good would it have done? I got out of bed and gingerly and carefully made my way to the kitchen where at three a.m. I took a Bendadryl, ate a yogurt and read an article in the New Yorker.
Three a.m. and I doubt I'd had ten minutes sleep all night.
I again made my way cautiously back through the house and got back into the bed and finally, I slept.
I swear to you, if I didn't love this place so damn much I'd hate it.
I took a walk this morning despite my lack of sleep, my Benadryl hangover. I saw a beautiful fox in a field. I observed him and he observed me. He let me take his picture from far away.
I wish that fox had followed me home. He (or she) could dine nicely on my vermin. On my rats or mice or whatever they are. When I tried to get Mr. Moon to explain to me how in the world such a small creature as a mouse could make such a noise, he admitted that perhaps it had been a rat. A small one, though. Was he wearing steel-toed boots? Was he jumping from mantle to vanity? Was there, in fact, a rat/mouse AND a bat?
I am not thinking clearly today. I know that I must, absolutely HAVE to, get in that room and clean it top to bottom. Both closets, the the beautiful hand-made-by-my-husband cradle which is filled with diapers and baby blankets and stuffed animals. The little doll beds which Glen's daddy made where there are more blankets and stuffed animals. Indeed, one of them right now is the stand-in for a hospital where Owen left an ailing chimpanzee and a baby doll when he left the other day. "They're sick," he told me. "They have diarrhea. You take care of them." When he left he gave me further instructions. "If you smell poop, change they diapers."
So yes, all of that must be gone through and cleaned out and I don't know what. I don't know. Should I go get Lily's mellow old cat, Bogart, and bring him here to see if he'll hunt? Should I get a snake? A snake would eat the mice. Or rats. But what about the bats? And then...well, there's a snake.
Should I move?
I can't even take a nap until I've gotten that room cleaned out.
Let me say this- whatever the outcome of my cleaning today is, I WILL be taking Benadryl before I go to bed tonight.
And that's the news from Lloyd, Florida, on a Wednesday afternoon in the summer of 2013. It's not important news and it's not news that you can probably use but it is my news.