Am I the only amputee that finds myself afraid of things I can’t run from? No, I am not talking about things like bears, cheetahs, and wolves because no one can outrun them and I don’t really feel that I am on a different playing field where they are concerned. I’m talking the REALLY dangerous animals, like mice.
A few weeks ago I was up very early and headed to the hospital to see a family member. I had just sold a set of bowls online and went to grab them to meet up with the buyer so my parking fees at the hospital would be covered in cash. Singing “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah” (not an exaggeration I really do sing this song) I bounced down to the basement, grabbed my bowls, turned around and there it was. A cute, fuzzy, brown, fat, and healthy – ZOMBIE mouse!
My first reaction was to scream and drop the bowls. I started screaming and clutching the bowls with my death clutch (there was no way I was going to lose the money for my parking meter). It took about three real seconds to come to the conclusion that I was in the house alone and no one could hear me. That’s when flashbacks set in as I knew this mouse was going to run right up my fake leg and I wouldn’t even feel it, it would kill and eat me alive in my very own basement and it would be an entire day before anyone found me there victimized and tragically obliterated.
Apparently the mouse had gotten into some poison because it was nodding off as it sat there, would stumble towards me a little, then stop and nod off some more. I didn’t know what to do! I had my fake leg on and that limits my running ability…and jumping ability. I was completely trapped in the corner between the mouse, my basement cabinets, and the pool table. I debated taking my leg off and throwing it at him, but it didn’t take me long to know that I could never again wear my $100,000 chunk of metal after it crushed a live mouse to death. I mean, what if the blood germs carried disease? It took about ten more seconds for my “flight” reaction to kick in as I scrambled on top of the pool table with my bowls, crutches and all to crawl to safety.
But was it really over? How could I rest in peace knowing there was a zombie mouse apocalypse happening right below my very dining room? How was I to function? How could I leave my precious Chihuahuas home when at any given moment this mouse could morph into my living room and latch onto them as a vampire would?
From the top of the steps with a broom and two crutches, I kept my eyes locked on the target. I was seriously going to deal with this. So I called my father. Now, any father that has ever had any doubt about being replaced by a husband and thus no longer important please rest assured. There WILL be that one day at 6 AM when you least expect the phone to ring that your daughter will be huddled in the stairwell fighting for her very life and need rescued while her husband is at work. Oh yes, it is true, my father had to come rescue me and “handle it”. To this day, as I am leery as I walk around outside knowing not where my father exactly “handled it”…
All that to say; I don’t know if it is the fact that I wouldn’t feel a mouse on my fake leg or that I couldn’t run from a mouse with my fake leg that has me petrified. Perhaps I’m just afraid of mice.