Volcano Goddess of the Housemice

One morning last week, I was unloading the dishwasher when I heard a small slap as something landed on the floor behind me. When I turned, a dead mouse lay in front of the refrigerator.

Now, we live in a two-century-old house in a rural area and we sometimes get an occasional mouse or squirrel in the house. Last summer we even had a bat. It happens, although we now have a couple of those plug-in pest repellers that play the soundtrack from Cats or something a frequencies too high for non-rodents to hear, so these incidents are rare.

So, after doing a quick wig-out, I scooped up the little body in a paper towel and tossed it into the trash, then broke out the Lysol wipes. But something has been bothering me.

How did it get there? It didn't just keel over in the middle of my floor.

I have a theory. My first theory--that the mouse mafia was using me as its own personal meadowlands--didn't make sense. The body didn't have a mark on it, and we all know that they'd want to send a message.

So now I believe it was thrown there... to appease me.

It makes sense that the housemice would develop a Katefearing culture. I am truly fearsome when my terrible bellow echoes forth, "How many times do I have to tell you? DON'T draw on your brother's neck!" I keep the housecat--the monster of legend--as a pet. I have mastery of fire (the oven) and ice (the freezer).

So, you know, I've got that going for me.

Now we will see if they do it again. Personally, I'd like to see frequent sacrifices--it'd keep the population under control.