Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Why, Oh Why...

...do my kids insist on showing off to their mama...?

Last night, before going to bed, I noticed Dobby sitting in the pantry. That could only mean one thing: Mousie #05-2007 would have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.

I wake up around 3am to a *THWOMP*jingle-jingle-jingle...which could only mean one thing - Otis (the one who has tags on his collar) caught something and walked off with it. However, the *THWOMP* was just at the foot of my bed. The bastards brought it upstairs again.

I hear the tale-tell grrrrrrrrrrrr of Dobby going down the stairs. Good. Be gone with you. I have a silent thought of peace and quick death for Mousie then go back to sleep. For about three minutes. Because then the grrrrrrrrrrrrr had come back into my bedroom.


I grab my glasses, crawl down to the foot of the bed, and peer over the foot-board - even in the dark I can see Dobby with something in his mouth.

"Get out, Dobby. NO, Dobby." Dobby walks closer to the bed, next to the little stair-steps he uses to get up on the bed. SweetzombiejeezusNOTTHEBED!!!

"NO! No, Dobby. Bad Dobby. Go, Dobby. No! No! No! Bad Dobby!"

I'm now kneeling on the bed (having stood up previously, forgetting that the ceiling fan is on), screaming "No, Dobby" so loudly and so frequently that I'm sure the folks staggering down the street after Last Call are certain that I have a special friend named Dobby who has forgotten the safe word.

Dobby finally gets the hint and turns away without jumping up. Cheezwhiz Heist, that woke me up. I shut the bedroom door, only to hear him outside, still growling. I envision him letting his little "toy" go for more playtime, only the mouse running under the door into my room. I don't care at this point. The bed is my safe zone for another hour or so, not that I'll be doing any sleeping. I keep staring at the door, half expecting the doorknob to turn slowly like in the horror movies. Funny things run through your mind when you're freaked in the middle of the night.

The only thing worse than the above scenario is not finding Mousie the next morning. It took an hour, but I finally found him, poor, battered little thing. Dobby is proud, but very sleepy. I know the freakin' feeling.

1 comment:

Lorena said...

"I have a special friend named Dobby who has forgotten the safe word"

--- AHAHAH! I totally just spit out my beer.

Not that I'm drinking beer at 3 in the afternoon.