Bob Thomas Writes

Imagine the courage you would need to face an opponent 80 times bigger than you. I know, you’re asking yourself what could possibly be that large? Well, I am. At least I’m 80 times bigger then Herb.

Herb is the name I’ve given to the mouse that lives under my entertainment center in the middle of my living room. He’s a new resident, only recently moved in.

He apparently decided that freezing his butt off outside was no longer worth the risk, and there was, I’m sure, a severe shortage of potato chips and peanut crumbs outside, so Herb decided that he can outsmart me much easier than he can the stray cats around here. And he can.

I don’t see him very often – just once or twice a day as he dashes across my living room carpet on his way to, or from the next large piece of furniture in the room. He’s pretty smart actually, because he only hides under things that I can’t easily pick up or move. My desk is at least 250 pounds, and my entertainment center has a big screen TV that almost requires two people to move.

I suspect he lives a life of leisure while I’m gone. He can, I’m sure, sustain himself by eating potato chips crumbs or an occasional bit of peanut that misses my mouth while I’m watching TV. If it weren’t for my weekly housekeeper I’d probably have a ‘mound’ of chips and crumbs under my Lazy Boy!

I’ve come to admire Herb’s courage. I can only imagine what fortitude it takes to dash across the floor knowing that you can be stomped on… though I would never do that, and I’m sure he’s figured out that I’m not the fastest human being around, but still it must take a few minutes of ‘courage building’ to sudden make the run. His speed increases when he hears me grunt in an effort to leap from my chair and . . . ? Do what? I don’t know that I would smack him with the broom or some other household tool… I wouldn’t want to leave a bloody crime scene outline of a mouse on my carpet!  

I certainly hope he doesn’t have a family under there, but if he does he probably tells his wife and kids “Goodbye” and gives them a hug every time he dashes. He tells his son that he’ll have to be the man of the family if he doesn’t make it this time, tells his daughter to help Mom around the house etc. Pretty much like John Wayne does in the old movies on TV. I suspect seeing a complete, unbroken potato chip hit the floor is just too much to bear and he feels he has to make the attempt.

I’ve set a couple of traps for Herb. Baited with peanut butter.

I hope I catch him. And I hope I don’t.

Maybe he’ll realize that he’s not welcome here and just move to the next apartment – or back to the woods.

Run Herb, run!

Next Day

Jan 11, 2009

Well, Herb is dead. He was, I’m sure, driven crazy by the smell of peanut butter… probably a real ‘monkey on his back’ type of addiction. Sometime in the night he decided to ‘make a run’ for a taste. I was especially cruel as I sat the trap not more than 20” from his nose.

I didn’t hear the trap snap little Herb into two equal pieces – still attached to each other fortunately – but I’m pretty sure death was quick and painless.  I took a close look and could see that he had peanut butter on his little paws and the tip of his nose.

I hope he got a taste before he departed this cruel world . . . maybe he’s in Mouseville now, licking his fingers and saying to himself, “This is some goooood shit!”

Rest easy Herb, I assure you that I’ll keep and eye out for your wife and kids and give them a little taste of peanut butter if they wish!