Mouse in Mom's House

So my mother calls me last night in a total panic. She's elderly so this can't be a good thing. She has seen a mouse in her house. This is a big deal. My mother has an incredible phobia about rodents and once moved in with me for three weeks because she saw one in her house. I can't say I blame her because I don't like them either though I have been known to keep a gerbil as a pet (RIP Cheddar!).

The mouse in mom's house required Steve and I to make a trip over there and check things out. I found mom in her bed with the covers pulled up to her chin and the phone in hand. She's clearly in a panic. I said some reassuring things and closed the door. Steve is armed with a broom and I'm armed with a Swifter and we start poking around under beds and in closets looking for the damn mouse. I told him, "Look, you know we're gonna have to lie here, I mean, she'll never stay here again if she thinks it got away." He feels guilty about this and I tell him that I'll tell her, I'm probably going to hell anyway so one more lie won't really matter in the total scheme of things and sometimes a little lie is the kinder thing to do.

After what seems an appropriate amount of time I go in and tell her the mouse has been killed. She's still in quite the panic but makes it to phone where she calls her Pest Control service and leaves two crazed messages on their answering service. Three bourbon & cokes, two aspirin, one benadryl and lots of Chesterfields later, I get her to my house where she slept on my couch (yes, I offered her my bed but she wanted the couch!).

So, the next step is to meet the pest control guy, explain my tiny little lie to him, hope he can find the mouse and we can safely get my poor mother back in her own house. Cross fingers for a dead mouse.