Open Writing

We were four women, fleeing the noise and pollution of the city, for a restful week-end in a cozy farmhouse nestled in the rural heart of Ontario. As forecasted all summer, it was going to be another rainy week-end. But we were undaunted. We were well prepared for the long hours, having brought with us a generous supply of food and drink, DVDs and books, meditation materials and relaxing music.

The three hour drive up to the farmhouse was challenging. The rain came down in torrents blurring the highway; the traffic was relentless with all those cottage-goers in search of a mini-vacation. But just when we began to wonder why we were part of this mad exodus, the sun suddenly came out, shining through the sodden atmosphere, and two perfectly arced rainbows appeared across the horizon, so intensely beautiful, that we felt deeply inspired.

On arriving, our spirits were high as we organized ourselves for the night. The rain kept drumming on the rooftop, shrouding the building and enfolding us in a womb-like environment. Wrapping ourselves up in blankets, glasses of wine at hand, we decided to watch a movie, luxuriating in the fact that we could stay up all night if we chose to. It was lovely.

'Eeeeeeek!' A piercing scream tore through our blissful soirée.

'A mouse!' One of the women yelled. 'It just ran underneath the TV!' She was shaking as she drew her legs up on the sofa, and wrapped herself up in a tight bundle.

We wondered how such a slight movement could be detected in the dimly lit room with only the flickering of the television to expose alien intrusion, but since she appeared so distressed, we refrained from doubting, and all three of us tried to reassure her that no mouse would dare invade our space. But then she declared that she saw it scurry into the darkness of her bedroom, and under no circumstances was she going in there.

Our celebratory mood now dampened, we huddled around our friend, keeping an eye out for the unwelcome party-pooper, which we finally detected scooting around the edge of the room. There was no sympathy for the little rodent trying to find a dry spot in the face of the deluge outside. It had ruined our evening. We were going to do murder as soon as we could buy a trap in the closest city about half an hour's drive away, rain or shine.

After a somewhat uncertain night, we woke up to more rain. Teresa, our hostess, and I sloshed our way to the car, determined to get a mousetrap. We soon discovered that a friendly nearby creek had taken on threatening proportions, and had washed out the road. We had to take a circular route, which fortunately, was still navigable.

We found our mouse-trap. In fact, we bought a whole pack, just in case the brazen rodent had invited his friends to share our nest. Getting back to the farmhouse, we could hardly wait to play terminator.

Since the other two women would have nothing to do with our murderous intent, we were left on our own. Big deal, we thought. People were setting traps every day. Peanut butter. That was the bait. We prepared ourselves.

But we soon found out how ignorant we were of mousetrap dynamics. Every time we thought we had it, the spring snapped wickedly, sending the little contraption flying, with the two of us sprinting out of its way. We diligently read the instructions. Nothing doing. Instead we were in danger of smashing our fingers.

Frustrated, Teresa appealed to her Dad in Toronto. But he could not understand our problem. 'Just lift the spring and set the hook.' He was no help. How could a little thing like a mouse-trap defeat us?

A couple hours later, she quietly informed me that 'she got it.' Yes, amid all the debris on the kitchen counter, there was a baited trap sitting menacingly, just waiting for an unsuspecting mouse.

'We were trying too hard,' she explained. 'We just had to rest the hook on the slot, not fit it in as we were trying to do. I guess we could not believe it was such a simple job.'

We baited four more traps and set them in various strategic parts of the building.

The next morning one unlucky mouse was the result of all our efforts.

But we didn't feel like heroes.

© Lytrice Adams

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Lytrice writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au