Ding-Dong, The Mouse Is Dead

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There can be only one.

Sad, but true. And since I pay the rent, the one is me, last survivor standing in the battle of woman against mouse.

Last night, in an all out effort to rid myself of the beast, I stopped by CVS on my way home from work and bought every mousetrap they had. (Sounds more impressive than it is—they only had five.) Then I mixed sugar into my almond butter, smeared it on some Paleo bread—it’s hard to find bait when you eat Paleo—and baited the traps. I strategically placed them in the pantry, by the fridge, under the sink and in the kitchen towel drawer.  Then I went to bed and waited.

Sure enough, this morning there was a dead mouse in the pantry trap. The cheap one that cost .99 cents. While I’m happy to be rid of the mouse, I dislike a violent death and so had a moment of silence for him. If I had a bugle, I would have played taps.

The cat remains aloof. Ever since he released the mouse into my home, he’s shown no interest in sniffing, tracking or catching said mouse. That little sh**.

While I’m relieved the mouse is gone, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fear what’s to come. It seems like the cat is slowly building momentum with the critters it invites into our home. First it was a frog, then a lizard, than a baby bunny and now a mouse. Can an anaconda or a rabid possum be far behind?

Dear CVS: please stock up now. Chances are good that I’m going to need some bigger traps.

Cheers,

Dena

The Mouse Saga Continues

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Mouse - 1. Dena - 0.

I had plans tonight to write what I hoped would be the much anticipated Part II in my "Slowing Down to Speed Up" series but no, no one cares. All anyone is asking about is the mouse. So fine. Give the people what they want, that's my motto. Here goes.

For those who follow me on Facebook, you know one of my mouse traps went off, leading me to believe I had caught the mouse. Except I didn't really feel anything moving around when I shook the trap. I was too afraid to open the trap and look inside because I was sure Zombie Mouse would spring out and attack. So I just operated on the assumption that the mouse was gone. For two days, I've walked about in a state of rodent-free bliss.

Hardly.

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What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate

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Last night, 8:30 p.m. I hear my cat, Snowball, come in from the back porch. I'm rather proud of the fact that I've taught him to let himself in. I close the back patio door so it just barely latches. By throwing his (considerable) weight against the door, Snowball can let himself in when he's ready. 

I got up to close the door behind him and noticed he had what appeared to a large lump of dark wet leaves in his mouth. Except I know my cat. 

"It better be dead," I said. 

Snowball looked up at me and, without losing eye contact, calmly and deliberately went "Patoo-ie!" 

And the lump of dark leaves scurried away. 

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Slowing Down to Speed Up - Part I

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Slow down. That's the motto for 2016. At least when it comes to my training. 

Over the holidays, I devoured the new Mark Sisson/Brad Kearns book, PRIMAL ENDURANCE. As an endurance athlete, I've always felt the Primal lifestyle with its emphasis on avoiding what they refer to as "chronic cardio" (and what I refer to as "daily life") eluded me. I train hard and I train often. I like working up a sweat. I like pushing myself in workouts to go a little faster, a little further. And I LOVE a regimented training schedule. Not to mention--no surprise here--I thrive on the ego boost that comes from being "that girl" at the gym or the race who's always crushing it. 

Turns out I'm doing it all wrong. I've always known I overtrain but this book was like a personal message directed to me. Everything--everything I do is contributing to early aging, injury, reduced speed and chronic mental/physical stress. 

Party poopers.

But the science is there and I'm willing to experiment. 

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