Divide and Conquer

Scott and I decide to split ranks and cover more ground. He goes upstairs and I enter the darkened living room.

I turn on a lamp and then another and then another. I want everything illuminated so that I can pick up on the slightest motion and spot anything, no matter how small or lifeless, on the patterned rug I am now regretting having laid there.

I stand still, trying to hear any minute movement above the sound of my pounding heart. You’d think I was evading the Boston Strangler.

After standing as motionless as humanly possible, given my visceral response to this particular stress, I decide that Trinket is trying to outsmart me by laying motionless unless the coast is clear. I assume she is under the sofa or one of the chairs. She’d have plenty of concealed room to run and lots of escape routes if she had to make a break for it (assuming I’d found the damn broom, which I hadn’t.)

I have not other choice. I have to get on my hands and knees and look under the furniture.

And this is why big scaredy cats who think there is a mouse about the house stand on chairs, people. Because up on a chair, you have a little distance. The mouse is not going to run across your feet and up your pant leg to parts unknown. And that is actually what we fear.

And here I am. Not only am I not on a chair, I am about to place my face against the rug, and potentially come face to face with The Beast, who will likely run into my massively curly hair where it will remained entangled while I have a full on hissy fit and die of a stroke of my own doing.

As silently as I can, so as not to inspire a mad dash, I get down upon my knees and turn my head to the side, my eyes wildly searching for signs of movement. I place my face against the floor and take in a wide view of the floor. And a deep breath so as not to pass out in that vulnerable a position.

Nothing.

Emboldened, I repeat this activity until I am sure the cat and her mouse are nowhere to be found on the first floor. Sqat-tah.

I call to Scott. “Scott, do you see her? She’s not down here. Neither is the mouse. They must be up there with you.”

I hear nothing from the second floor and ascend the stairs to the first landing and stop to listen.

More nothing.

With the caution of an international spy, I creep up the remaining stairs.