He'll want to make you scream.

We've had some issues with a mouse in our house. Last Thursday night, the issue took a turn for the squeamish, when the mouse took a turn for my toes as I sat at the dining room table. When he was about a foot from my feet, I assumed the stereotyped position of "hysterical lady on a chair, screaming at a mouse." Between my scream and a lack-a-half-assed-daisical pounce from Bella, the tiny fur thing escaped to somewhere under the kitchen cupboards. No harm done. All was nearly forgotten.

6:00 a.m. Friday: As I prepare to leave for work, I go to put on my Uggs. Sitting next to my Uggs is my Bella. While it's not totally weird that my cat is sitting next to my boots, there was something about her look which gave me pause for paws. Concern, even. So, before putting my bare foot into a black furry Ugg, I give it a shake. Nothing. I pick up the other one and shake. Nothing.

No mouse in da boot, I thinks to myself. All Systems Go.

So, I slide my foot into the boot, and feel a tiny, soft lump, way down by the toe. Okay, this bump is ree-ree tiny. Like a cotton ball. Nearly imperceptible. So I I says to myself, what can that be? Can't be a mouse, because I shook the boot.

Maybe Cakers put something in the boot. Like a cottonball. You know how four-year-old girls love to play with cottonballs, in their mommy's boot. Or maybe it's a stray toy, like an accrouement from the Maxi-Pad Barbie collection.

Certainly it's not a mouse. Because I shook it. He would've fallen. So, with this arsenal of self-assurance, I commenced to put my hand into the boot. When I was about halfway down the Ugg's chimney, a voice in my head says "What The Fuck Are You Doing?" "What?" I says back. "I shook the boot. It's not a mouse."

And to prove my point to my inner nag ::She has significant control issues. To boot.::, I shook it again. And out he fell. An itsy bitsy black mouse. Live. As I watched him run away to the corner* I lost my religion.**

*He may have suffered a closed, itsy bitsy head injury, because he only ran away to stick his nose in the corner. He stayed there, unmoving, until my husband scooped him up and set him free in the back yard.

**Screaming. No, screeching. Flapping my hands. Cussing. Waking up The Cakers and likely the rest of the neighborhood. In fact, I can't believe someone didn't call the police.

All day long, I replayed the horror of the thought of stepping on a mouse, with my bare foot, inside my trusty Ugg. What if I didn't pay attention to the itsy bit in my boot, and ended up wearing him to work?

And then, what if he crawled out of the boot and up my bare leg, under my slacks? While I was driving? What if he peed in there? Or barfed? What if he crawled up my leg?

What if I squished him while applying the brake? And I didn't know it? Until he started to smell?

Or, what if he crawled up my leg? My. Bare. Leg.

After telling my mouse tail about 15 times, to anyone with ears, I came to wonder why the mouse didn't come out during the first shake. I eventually giggled myself to tears, as I pictured the mouse clinging to the boot lining, as I shook it, thinking, "Damn! That's one bad ass cat!"

Now, put yourself in my shoes. Is it time to go boot shopping?

Knittin' Knot
Okay, maybe a little. I finished my sister's horizontal scarf. This might be one of the prettiest things I've completed in some time. It was fun to see how the colors played together. It's longer than I thought it would be, over five feet. It was hard to tell while I was knitting it, because of it being squished on the circs.

The yarn is Mission Falls. If you're interested in the color combos, let me know and I'll look it up.



Since finishing the scarf on Sunday, I've had nothing on the needles, except a few swatches. Which makes me feel kind of lost. Monday, I started my Christmas shopping, and as of today, I'm about done.

Right now I feel like I have too much time on my hands, with nothing pressing. It is stressing me out in a paradoxical, neurotic kind of way. I'm not sure what to do. Would a drink be appropriate?

What I'm saying is, at this time, I am feeling overwhelmed, for no apparent reason. And it seems like all clever thoughts are passing one another, like farts in the night. Is there such thing as mid-life onset schizophrenia? What will I do? Would a drink be appropriate, in this situation?

Anyway, I'm not sure that there'll be much posting between now and the Big Day. Just sayin'.

If it weren't for Christmas, we'd all be Jewish.-Jack Handey

P.S. I'm sorry for the multiple publishing. I was having graphics issues, then chunks of text disappeared between Preview and Publish. Anyway. Have Merry.