I had a comedy first the other night – I had to leave during a show due to a family emergency. I did my set and my phone blew up. It was the worst case scenario. There was a mouse in the house. “But Chris, there’s much worse things than that!” Have you met my wife?
Our wonderful murder cat, who has brought me about seven dead mice, 2 live chipmunks, a dead snake and my favorite, a live bird that I thought was dead until I went to pick it up, had another surprise. It was likely dead, but that means nothing to my better half. Terrorist attack? No sweat. Mouse that is 94% likely already dead? Four alarm fire.
I got home and the ante was upped by the fact my kid was asleep, the cat was sans mouse and my bride was barricaded on the couch with her cell flashlight scanning the floor like a prison spotlight. After 45 minutes, I was unable to find the 3 inch menace, so I had to run right back to the show.
On the return home, I was told “If you can’t find that mouse, I can’t be in this house. I’ll have to leave.” Using what I thought was reason I said, “That mouse is more scared of you than you of it.” The cold glare back made me realize that was incorrect. So I did find the damn thing and it was stone dead. Long story short, if want to burgle my house, tell me there’s free beer down the street and throw a mouse at my wife – you would have squatter’s rights by the time we came back.