One recent night, after an extremely long day, I retired to bed very, very early. So early that my husband did not join me. At some point during my (apparently very deep) slumber, I heard a loud crash in our bathroom. I startled, then interpreted the noise as my husband dropping something – probably the Sonicare toothbrush, in our sink.
I was irritated that he was proving incapable of preparing for bed without disturbing me when the crash happened again, only louder and more sustained. I began to be concerned that he was going to break my beautiful vessel sink that he had made for me. I also began to worry that perhaps he was having some sort of medical problem making him unable to hold onto whatever it was he kept dropping.
Then he sat up from the bed next to me, removed his C-PAP, and headed to the bathroom to investigate. At that point, I was rather embarrassed that I was too out of it to notice that a 230+ pound man was sleeping next to me. And that I had shown an apparent complete lack of concern by not making my own movement toward the bathroom. Then I worried about what could possibly have made that noise.
The suction-cup mirror in the shower, it turns out. It slipped a couple of its cups, which caused first his heavy wood-handled shaving brush to fall. Then it slipped the remaining cups and clattered to the shower floor. Mystery solved and I eventually fell back asleep.
The next night, I was awakened around 4 or 5 in the morning by the sound of something rattling on the floor near my head. I tried to ignore it but it persisted. I turned on my phone and checked the area around the bed. Nothing. Eventually the noise moved to his side of the bed. He turned on his phone and checked the area around the bed. Nothing.
But before long, we knew. It simply had to be a mouse. Playing with something hard. The little knocking sounds of something bumping the wooden floor were eventually joined by mousy squeaking sounds. We couldn’t quiet it. We couldn’t scare it away. I lay awake hoping it didn’t decide to traverse the bed.
Two nights passed with a mousetrap on the floor at the head of the bed. At some point during that second night, the knocking began again. This time at the center of the head of the bed. The mouse was under the bed. This was not an easy problem to solve because our bed is not on feet. It’s a platform with drawers. The only way to see under it is to remove the mattress and peer through the slats.
I tried, like the previous time, to ignore it. But it was impossible. My husband was away from home, so I slapped his side of the bed. The loud thunk would pause the mouse for a few minutes, granting me a bit of reprieve. But it also disturbed the dog in the boys’ room next door, who began to bark at me.
So I got up and scooted the bed off the slats. That also concerned the dog, who barked some more warnings through the wall. Soon the whole household would be awake. I found what the mouse had been playing with. Well, not playing, really. Attempting to eat.
I threw away the cough drop and hoped that the mouse, wherever it had scurried off to hide, would move on when it could no longer find its treasure. I scooted the bed back onto the slats and attempted to return to sleep. Some time later, I was again awakened by the sound of a cough drop being knocked repeatedly on the floor under the bed. I slapped the bed. The dog barked. The mouse squeaked. I lay awake, defeated.
That morning, I got my eleven year old son to help me completely remove the mattress from the slats and prop it up against the wall. I pulled all of the drawers out of the bed platform. I found no cough drop. I have no clue what the mouse was playing with that last time. Maybe she took it with her.
Meanwhile, the dog trotted down the hall toward my room, spied the looming form of the bed against the wall, and knew it was time to perform her duty as protector of the household. She crouched down, raised the hair along her spine, and growled menacingly. Eventually barking with all the ferocity a dangerous inanimate object deserves, disregarding the reassurance of the object of her protection (me) that all was ok.
I moved the mouse trap closer to the center of the bed. I returned the mattress. I consoled the dog. I got the kids out the door for school. I headed to work, already exhausted. I hope the mouse finds my peanut butter in the trap while I’m away. I’d hate to have to cede *my* bedroom to the invader and sleep on the couch.