It’s like motherfucking Wild Kingdom around here these days. WILD KINGDOM OF THE DAMNED.

So here’s what happened.

I was sitting in my living room this morning trying to jump-start my brain with epic doses of caffeine, when I heard a very light scratching sound coming from behind our TV cabinet. The scratching sound lasted for perhaps two or three seconds and then stopped, so I shrugged it off. Our house was built in 1914, it makes all kinds of random and unexplainable noises, believe me. I mean, if I got freaked out every time I heard scratching, or the sound of rattling chains in the basement, or blood curdling screams coming from the attic at 3am, well, I’d be freaked out a whole lot of the time. Anyway, a few moments later I looked to my left and saw a teeny tiny gray baby mouse punch-drunkenly climbing out from behind the cabinet over the thick white satellite TV cables strung along the baseboard.

Right about this time, give or take a few stunned, horrified seconds, was when I began running around in circles like a cartoon character, hands flailing wildly, repeating over and over like a mental patient off her Very Important Meds: OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO. Yeah, so basically I’m real good in a crisis and stuff.

I then did what any sane person would do, which was find a bowl, plunk it down over the mouse to trap it, and then proceed to stand there for five minutes with my mouth hanging open staring at said bowl, as if awaiting further directives from the part of my brain containing Reason and Problem Solving skills. Sadly, my brain was all, Dude, I’ve done what I can. You’re kind of on your own from here on out — I have some equations related to wave-particle duality I need to be working through. I’M OUT! Stupid brain.

At that moment I was standing about two feet away from my desk (and I use the term “desk” loosely — it’s not so much an actual, functional workspace, but rather a shambolic dumping ground for bills and paperwork and other distinctly Not Fun things I don’t really want to deal with (an appointment request card from my dentist has been sitting atop one of the several piles that comprise the mountainous terrain of my desk for well over 6 months; my teeth will surely rot and liquify before I make that goddamn appointment now that the card has been consigned to The Desk Of No Return)), so I grabbed the nearest folder and gingerly scooted it, inch by inch, under the now-mouse-filled-bowl.

On a motherfuckin’ roll (I AM A WOMAN OF ACTION! TAKING CHARGE OF THE VERY SERIOUS AND COMPLEX MOUSE SITUATION! YEAH!!!!), I gently picked up the folder/mouse/bowl and took it out onto our broad front walk, so that upon release from its bowl-prison the baby mouse would instantly be vulnerable, exposed and clearly visible to birds of prey from the air.

Yeah that’s not very impressive.

Okay, how about this?:

DINNER IS SERVED!

Okay, a couple of things to note here:

(Sorry, got a little caps-lock crazy there. Deeeeep breaths.)

So after a few stunned and trembling seconds, baby mouse scuttled off under the ivy surrounding our front porch. Which probably means that baby mouse will be reappearing inside my house within 24 hours. But really, what am I going to do? Feed it to my cats? Flush it down the toilet? Create a baby-mouse-inspired theme park and animation studio and become a bazillionare? Oh, wait…

(The truth I’m trying very hard not to admit to myself is that baby mouse is probably done for. Poor thing could barely walk yet — he’s not going to present much of a challenge to nearby wildlife with the fever for the flavor of the mouses. Can’t say I don’t feel bad, I’m kind of a pussy about cute fuzzy mammals truth be told, but it’s not like we could keep it…)

(Alright, fine, Circle Of Life and shit, I’m over it. Sigh. Stupid life circle.)