Mr. Cooper and I are total opposites in many ways, and a lot of people were surprised when we ended up together for that reason. I’m an extreme introvert, he’s outgoing. He partied in high school, I read a lot of books at home. He loves Italian food, I prefer Chinese. I’m terrified of bugs/mice/etc. and he is not.
That last difference is due largely in part to the fact that I grew up in town, we were outside city limits, but in the middle of a neighborhood a mere 3 minutes from the grocery store. His childhood home was at the end of a gravel road in the middle of a wildlife reserve where there is no cell phone service. You can see why we may have differing outlooks on such things, and it has made our married life interesting.
Hear me out people, I am fairly self-sufficient and I prefer to do most things for myself… except when it comes to spiders and mice and suddenly I’m a silent movie damsel in distress. This is when Mr. Cooper and his backwoods manliness comes into play, so to speak.
It’s really not that bad in warm weather, but this Arctic weather has mice coming out of the woodwork which in turn has me going insane. These life-ruining little monsters are ev.er.y.where and I spend a lot of time cleaning up after them before I can even get to anything else. We can’t use poison because Nikki, our Yorkie, hunts them like he’s being paid to do so. He marches from corner to crevice most of his day, occasionally scratching and growling. In turn, there’s a constant war on mice going on in the Cooper household. One would assume that he would be all over his first attempt to slaughter one of the little pests, but no. Oh, no.
A couple of weeks ago, I was preparing for my shower. I had already taken off my Ray-Bans (which are 100% necessary and not just for looks, despite what people assume) and my eye makeup so I was not much better than blind. One of the mister’s biggest complaints with me is that I leave my hair in the drain and on the walls of the shower. Honestly, I don’t understand how I’m not completely bald judging by the amount of hair I lose in the shower on a daily basis, so it’s a legitimate complaint on his part. Anyway, I was removing the hair from the drain and I saw what I thought was another hairball in the corner of the shower -remember, I can only see shapes and colors without my spectacles. I reached down to pick up the hairball and suddenly, it moved! I screamed, “AHHHHH! HELP! GET IN HERE! GET IN HERE!” as though I was dying.
Mr. Cooper came to the rescue expecting to see blood, a not so uncommon event in our home, but instead he found the tiny baby mouse who was trapped in the shower trying to make a break for it. I will not share the brutal details of Mr. Cooper calmly doing away with the little fella, but let’s just say there was blood and an eyeball left in my shower afterwards that only led to more screaming on my part. Where was Nikki on that one, huh? This was a victory for the allies side of the war on mice, and I hoped his family would heed our warning.
Fast forward to three days ago. Mr. Cooper was on second shift, so I was home alone other than our small indoor farm. I heard a commotion coming from the bathroom. We keep Vinny’s food (our rescue cat) in the bathroom closet, and apparently the mice have discovered the stash and have acquired the taste for Whiskas. The cat is lazy and the dogs are cowards, so it was up to me to save myself this time. I crept into the bathroom like an assassin, quietly opened the closet, and closed the bag with break-neck speed. For good measure, I shook the bag to make it a little loopy, and then I left the dirty work up to the stray cat who lives on our porch. Luckily, she is more dependable than our domesticated moochers. The mouse darted out of the Whiskas bag with a fury, and Kitty (I’ve been told we can’t afford another pet, so I can’t get attached by giving her a real name but I slip her food on a regular basis) disposed of him appropriately. Good Kitty.
We’ve not yet won the war, but the war’s not over.