Pet Regret

I grew up in the country in a neat little red brick house on a corner with fields all around. The fact that our house was brick and on a cement foundation still didn’t keep the mice out come winter time. My mother is TERRIFIED of mice. I don’t mean moderately scared or even a little creeped out, I mean the woman would die if one ever touched her. I’m not joking.

My momma is so terrified of all things rodentia that the first winter in the brand new house, she nearly flipped her lid when she saw a critter run across the kitchen floor. She literally came un. glued. My father worked nights, and he didn’t want his wife dragging their two young children to his work so they could sit at the end of the tire assembly line for an entire shift just because she was afraid to stay in the house alone, so he fixed the situation by telling her that mice can’t run on carpet. He said their little toenails got snagged in the carpet and they just stayed on linoleum, therefore she had nothing to fear on the carpeted areas of the house while he was at work.

Now, my mother is a very intelligent woman, but bless her heart, she bought this one hook, line and sinker. I’m going to blame post-partum depression.

And all went along smoothly for awhile. My father went to work every night, and after dinner, Mom never left the living room. She even laid my five months old little sister on a blanket on the living room floor to play and nap because, hey, those mice can’t run on carpet, right? Well, until one night while watching Hee Haw or Lawrence Welk, a mouse came scurrying his little tail off right through the dining room, and when he hit carpet, never slowed down. My sleeping baby sister didn’t slow him down, either – he just jumped over her and kept on bookin’ it.

I saw it all happen. Mom saw it all happen. We looked at each other and without a word, drew our feet up onto the couch. Then the shrieking began. Who was going to go get the baby? “Hey lady, I’m like, not even four, not gonna be me.” “Oh no, not me, either. I have to remain alive to take care of your sister because obviously you are going to perish when you go retrieve her FROM THE FLOOR WHERE MICE ARE.”

Although, that conversation didn’t happen out loud, I’m sure it went on in our heads. It was possibly our first mother-daughter telepathy moment.

She’s 60 now, and still just as terrified of mice. I’m not a fan, either. We haven’t had one in our country house in a few years, but since we’re surrounded by either field or forest no matter which side you look at, mice are kind of just gonna happen. This is why we have lots of cats.

The last time we had a mouse in the house, I wore shoes pretty much 24/7, tucked my pants into my socks, and upon entering any room, I would stomp and declare loudly, “HELLO MOUSE. I AM ENTERING THIS ROOM. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME WHILE I AM IN HERE. PLEASE DO NOT SHOW YOURSELF UNTIL I AM GONE. OH, AND PLEASE DIE. THANK YOU.” If you think I’m lying, ask my kids. I totally did that. Every time.

Over the years, the kids have asked repeatedly for hamsters. And every time I say no. NO NO NO NO NONONONONONONOOOOOOOO. But last August, I was obviously ate up with the stupid while getting ready to homeschool my children, and when my oldest asked for a hamster, I dismissed her with, “Ask your dad.” Now we have three.

So, how do you feel about rodents as pets? Do you regret agreeing to them, or did those furry faces grow on you after awhile?

Kristin is an Oklahoma-raised, homeschoolin’ momma of three who was born a diva, married a redneck, and osmosis or magic transformed her into the camo-lovin’diva she is today. She tells way more about herself than is probably necessary (to the chagrin of her mother) on her blog, The Redneck Diva.