faster pussycat... type! type!

There was a party going on at Wil's house on Friday night when we got home. By Wil's house, I mean Angi's house, actually. Wil currently lives on the main floor with Angi and her son, but Wednesday moves up to the second floor apartment. Anyway, Wil and I were hanging out in his room, watching episodes of Firefly on dvd after the party had moved on to a new location, when we were hit with a fierce need for snackin'. Ok, I was. It was decided that it would probably be ok if we "borrowed" one of the unopened bag of chips, until we could replace them in the morning. (Which, I now remember, we never did. We owe Angi a bag of nacho cheese Doritos)

So, we are lying on the bed, watching the show, after enjoying some chips, when I hear this rustling. For whatever reason, I knew where Wil's hands were and they weren't in a bag of chips.

me: That's not you, is it... eating those chips?
Wil: No.
me: then... WHO IS IT?
Wil - suddenly speaking from across the room from the chips: It's a mouse!
me: eek! get Lorange! Call Lorgange*!

Now, I'm not afraid of mice, and neither is Wil. So why freak because there is a mouse in our chips? Besides the obvious discomfort of having mouse feet all over your food? My theory...no matter how safe you think you are inside your four walls, Nature has a way of finding a crack in the facade. Alright, sure, it was what turned out to be a very tiny, equally freaked out, mouse. But that's not the point. It's a reminder of the fragility of your domicile, your protection against the elements.. You never know when the wild is going to come in, with teeth and claws, and steal your chips. Or tiny beady eyes, whichever. It's unsettling.

After we did some dancing about and wondering what we were to do about the situation, Wil snatched up the bag and put it out on the porch so the mouse could rustle his way out of the bag after eating his fill of nacho cheese goodness. We could throw the bag away in the morning. Later, Angi came home, and we heard a familiar scrunchy bag sound. Wil whooshed out of the bed and I followed to hear him explain about the Mouse Chips and telling of our dramatic battle with Nature. She pointed out it was an old house and occasionally a mouse may sneak in. Somehow, the whole thing seemed less adventuresome in the retelling. But then, maybe you just had to be there. Angi was just bummed because the Possibility of Winning an Xbox 360 game piece was gone. We all knew who took it. Dash cunning for a little mouse, eh?

*there is an old orange cat that lives in the house, who has recently decided to claim that blankets on Wil's bed, most likely because Wil won't allow the dogs in the room. Wil started out calling him Orange, but that has evolved to Mr. Brun L'Orange. When being formal, I say it with the intended French accent, but in the case of mouse emergencies, it's just "lorange." I think his real name is Roscoe.