Mouse in the house

On a quiet Sunday afternoon, I hear a rustling noise. If everything else had been quiet, I probably wouldn't have noticed it; I could easily have missed it because it was so unobtrusive. But I had just finished my puzzle, was available to my surroundings; noticed the rustling and wondered what was causing it.

The noise continued as I crossed the room to trace the noise.

I opened the lower cupboard, took some things off the lower shelf; nothing there. The upper shelf (of the lower cupboard) held a couple of appliances, pasta in Costco quantities, and miscellaneous items that had been relegated to the corner cupboard because they are no longer in use. As I pulled out the pasta, the mouse ran to the right, behind the appliances, squeaking. Several packages had ragged holes; rigatoni was scattered over the shelf; there was an Oreo-sized hole in the back wall. Tiny black pellets of mouse poop on everything I pulled out.

Grabbing a flashlight, I emptied the shelf. As I removed each hiding place, he ran quickly to the next, till there were no hiding places left. Maggie stuck her head into the cupboard, sniffing, and we both watched the mouse run back and forth, up the wall and down, unable to get away from the beam of light.

I left the flashlight there and disposed of items that had been ruined by chewing; also moved a few into the giveaway pile. Maggie was climbing into the cupboard trying to get at the mouse, so by the time I got back it had left, presumably through the hole in the back wall.

Duct taped the wall, cleaned up, stored the remaining pasta in a covered metal container. Glad the mouse got away and glad that it's no longer in there; cute little fellow.

Twenty dollars

I saw a twenty lying on the sidewalk and picked it up without thinking about it. Before I had gone twenty feet, I decided I had done the wrong thing. I should have left it where it was so that the person who lost it could come back and find it. If everybody did the same thing, no problem. But I didn't want to put it back. That would call attention to the twenty and somebody else, somebody who wasn't the original owner, would take it. I wondered about how the money came to be lying there and guessed that an over-full pocket or purse had been rummaged through, knocking the money out of place without the owner noticing. I imagined how I would feel if I lost a twenty in that way, probably a bit bothered but not hugely so.

Since I shouldn't have taken the money, I did not spend it, and instead gave it to a man who was selling Street Spirits on the sidewalk. He seemed a little surprised, but not overly so, and said thanks in a matter-of-fact tone, which I appreciated.

To partially make up for taking the money and other wrongs I have committed lately, I participated in the blood drive that was going on at the student union. My iron level was barely high enough to squeak me in, and I had to lie on a couple of the questions - e.g. I once took money for sex, but since it was my husband that paid me it didn't make any difference to the composition of my blood.

The needle stick was neither the best nor worst I've had; the procedure was efficient, and the setup adequate for the number of bleeders, so I hardly had to wait at all. As I squeezed the ball and watched the machine rock my quickly-filling blood bag from side to side, I thought that if I ever had a serious injury it would not take long to bleed out - I filled my bag before two other people that got there before I did.

I shouldn't have taken that free t-shirt.