Like a little girl

22 Nov

I am normally not a squeamish kind of person.  Needles don’t bother me.  Frank discussions of bodily functions don’t faze me.  As a kid, I was the one who took the dead, squished mice out of the mousetraps and helped my dad bury the dead, trapped skunks, while my sister ran the other way.

But tonight, I came as close as I ever have to screaming like a little girl.

My mom and I went out to run some errands this evening, and Michael got both Jade’s supper and our supper cooked in the meantime — no small feat, especially with a toddler to supervise/entertain.  One of the ways he kept Jade occupied was by letting her play in the drawer under the oven, the one filled with all the baking pans.

Of course, there’s so much stuff in there, all the pans have to be arranged just so in order for the drawer to close.  And I’m the only one who can arrange it just so.  So, when I went to rearrange the bakeware, I found that the bottom of one of the springform pans had fallen back into the murk behind the drawer.

I pulled out the drawer as far as it would go without actually removing it from its tracks.  There was the bottom of the pan.  And look!  What’s that?  One of Crook’s toy mice!  Oh, yes, and there’s a green rubber ball of Crook’s.  And another toy mouse.  My mother was pulling them out with her rubber-gloved hand, but I had a better view, so I started retrieving cat-hair-covered objects, as well.  (Isn’t it amazing how pet hair accumulates in the spots we never sweep or vacuum?)

Why, here is the breastfeeding bracelet my friend Jenn gave me when Jade was born.  I thought it was in my nightstand, and had been contemplating digging it out.  And here’s one of Jade’s bath toys.  And here’s… um… another toy mouse?  No, it’s too big.  Um…

That’s when I shrieked.

Because what I had grabbed was not a toy mouse, but the cat-hair-covered, dessicated body of a bird.

A harmless dead body, to be sure, but when you’re not expecting to grab a dead anything, well, revulsion is a natural reaction, isn’t it?

I shrieked all the way to the bathroom, where I thoroughly scrubbed my hands as I shivered in disgust.  Michael, who was parked in the living room with a sleeping baby on his chest, pointedly asked me just who I thought brought that dead bird into the house.  (“YOUR cat,” he concluded smugly.  At which I cleverly told him to shut up.)

That space under the oven?  It is SO clean now.

6 Responses to “Like a little girl”

  1. Kara November 23, 2008 at 7:22 am #

    ahahahahh very funny!!!!

  2. Louise November 23, 2008 at 8:41 am #

    Bonjour Fawn et Michael,

    Je prends le temps de lire le blog de Fawn souvent maintenant. C’est dans ma liste de ‘Favorites’. Je commence à m’habituer au nom de Halia et je suis heureuse de voir qu’elle dorme. Quel cadeau!

    Petite note à Fawn: j’ai aussi trouvé un oiseau mort dans la maison une fois – dans la fournaise. J’imagine qu’il est tombé dans la cheminée extérieure et “flop” dans la fournaise où il est mort dans la chaleur et la poussière.

  3. Beanie November 23, 2008 at 10:51 am #

    Thankfully, I’ve never really been squeamish about those kinds of things myself (except for spiders – dead or alive, those little critters frickin’ terrify me), much to the chagrin of my mother. As a girl, I once brought home a half-decomposed, maggot-infested rat, in my wagon, and insisted on giving it a Christian burial. Although I have gotten considerably more careful about how I handle situations like that as I’ve gotten older – a couple months ago we had a car come back to the lot with a dead bat stuck in the grille and I pried it out it with a stick, while wearing 2 bags over my hands, out of fear of rabies.

    My folks have a great (and when I say “great”, I mean gross and creepy) story about how years ago, when they were first married, they lived in the basement suite of an old house. And one night, a ceiling tile fell on them, in bed, while they were sleeping. Vati woke up and just brushed it off the bed. When they woke up in the morning, they were horrified to discover that a plethora of dead rodents and skeletons had come down with it and were all over the bed…

  4. Sharl November 23, 2008 at 4:25 pm #

    Hi Fawn… I was expecting the punch line to be that there was a live mouse…. but to pick up a dessicated bird thinking that it was a toy mouse… now that would be a surprise indeed!!!! Poor Simon can hardly take out the compost without gagging – he would not have done well in your shoes!!! Your story reminded me of the time a few years back when I lived with roommates Simon was over and we were trying to catch a mouse that had made it’s way into the house. The four of us were chasing the mouse all over the house and finally cornered in the living room. The chase ensued in the living room where we finally cornered the mouse under the sofa. Flipped over the sofa and no mouse, now the mouse was in the sofa. Great! Simon got on his hands and knees trying to find the mouse… (I was waiting in hand with a margarine container to catch the furry beast). Still no mouse…. suddenly Simon had a severe and curious itch on the top of his leg. It took a few seconds for Simon to realize that the itch was not an itch… but the mouse that had crawled up inside his pant leg. He jumped up flung his leg and the mouse went flying across the room. I ran after the flying mouse, trapped in in the margarine container and safely brought the stunned creature outside. Pretty funny for me…not so funny for Simon 🙂

  5. Asheya November 23, 2008 at 10:41 pm #

    EEEEWWWWW! Not a fun surprise! Nova’s left us a few “presents” on the doorstep, but thankfully none have been brought inside. Decapitated mice and birds outside the door are bad enough!

  6. Barbara November 24, 2008 at 4:44 am #

    You deserve an (another) award for that! Going to vote now. Well told. Coulda been me – anytime in my life.

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