Mr. Mephistopheles, George Glass, and the Mouse

15 Nov

Yes, I’m a single girl with a cat. And I adore my cat. Usually. But not today. As charming as he is, sometimes Mr. Papageorgio transforms to Mr. Mephistopheles, and this evening he was definitely sporting the horns.
As I began my hour commute home, eager to meet Clemintine Smith for lobster bisque at Lucille’s, my sister called to inform me that, indeed, there was a mouse in my house, brought in as a gift by the devil himself. And worse – the mouse was alive.
“Sorry, I’m leaving,” she said.
I would have to fend for myself. And I feign bravery not – I am no match for a mouse, albeit how small and hamster-esque he might be.
So, I did took the logical step – I cancelled dinner with Clementine, and rang for George. George Glass, that is.
“You must come over. There’s a mouse in my house.”
“There’s a mouse in your house??? Let me tell my boss.” (?) “There’s a mouse in her house. I have to leave early.”
“There’s a mouse in her house! Does she read Faust? [OK, I’m kidding about that last line, but the rhyme needs a little pizaaz.]
Sooo relieved and happy, I felt a momentary surge of heroism. I would get the mouse before he arrived! How proud he would be to know a girl who feared mice not!
This, however, was not the case, for when I opened my front door, just a crack, I became witness to the worst (and only) game of cat and mouse I’ve ever seen. And it didn’t look like the mouse was winning. Horrified, I ran to my car and waited for Mr. Glass.
He arrived like a knight in a black shining Camry. So . . .
Up the stairs we crept. Through the door we went. And each nook and cranny we searched, armed only with mop and broom. No mouse.
“Shhhh. Lift up the couch,” I whispered.
“Ye gods! There he is! Get him! Get him! No, don’t put the couch down, you’ll hurt him. Oh my god, the cat!”
So, as Mr. Glass held the couch up in one hand, a mop in another, Mr. Papageorgio pounced, missed, and the chase began. The mouse ran for the open door where I stood, I threw down my broom, threw my hands in the air, and ran down the stairs, Mr. Papageorgio ran through my legs after the mouse, and Mr. Glass ran behind us, mop in hand.
At which point, I turned around, ran back inside, and locked them all out (though I did open the door a tiny crack to shout an encouraging “Just please don’t hurt the mouse, George!”)

One minute later, Mr. Glass rose up the stairwell, cat in one hand, mop in the other, and the mouse safely in the garden. [cue Chariots of Fire]

And at that moment, Aeneas and Lancelot turned in their graves. Forget fiction. Mr. Glass was real. And at that moment, he was my hero.


4 Responses to “Mr. Mephistopheles, George Glass, and the Mouse”

  1. Jocelyn Reese November 15, 2007 at 8:00 AM #

    Brilliant (in every way).

  2. alyson November 17, 2007 at 8:03 AM #

    A mouse in the house is never a good thing, but a good man to get rid of it makes up for the pesky rodent.

  3. the sister who let first spotted the mouse November 19, 2007 at 4:00 AM #

    My attempt to “get” the mouse with your dish scrubber and your large wooden fork was not nearly as effective as the mop & broom. I am sorry – I tried.

  4. Nerevised November 19, 2007 at 10:03 AM #

    I loved this post. Wonderful adventure and rescue story, and made me laugh a lot.

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