Our darling puppy, Emma, is often confused about what she is. It probably doesn’t help that our cat, Captain SparklePaws, taught her the fine art of hunting–and killing–mice.
Sometimes she takes credit for Captain’s kills; sometimes she does the deed all by herself, with minimal help from Captain. He brings her live mice, and she finishes the job. Just this morning she posed with her prize.
Last night, I was sitting in my usual spot on the couch, watching tv with Justin after our kids had gone to sleep. I kept smelling a smell. “Justin, do you smell something?”
He didn’t, and I spent a few random moments sniffing nearby pillows, our pug, Bruce (who already thinks I’m crazy, so I’m sure sniffing him solidified that feeling), and even nearby shoes.
By the time we went bed, I had failed at locating the odd smell, and I was beginning to think maybe Bruce’s feeling about me were correct.
Until about 30 minutes ago, when I once again found myself smelling everything. I was beginning to feel like the little kids in room 309 (from Four Rooms, for those who are unaware). I smelled the pillows. I tore the cushions off the couch. None of them smelled. And yet, something smelled.
I moved the couch. And instead of finding a dead prostitute crammed in a box spring, I stumbled upon a large mouse, hidden perfectly under the computer desk. Thanks, Emma!
I then remembered that only Friday, Emma was trying to cram herself between the couch and desk. She was shoving her nose into the hidden space next to the couch, tucked away under the desk. My gosh, I also stuck my hand into that space and fished around for what I thought must’ve been a lost toy she simply had to get her paws on. I’m super grateful that I didn’t stumble upon it then. I might’ve saved myself from 2 nights of the stinky smell, but I ALMOST TOUCHED A DEAD MOUSE WITH MY BARE HANDS!
Let’s keep the mouse-gifts outside, ok Emma?