Mouse in the House

I lugged a five kg bag home from school. At least it was supposed to weigh that much according to the newspapers. But I think mine weighed a little more. When I put it down, my shoulders felt as if they were given a new life. You will most probably know what I mean. Not only did I greatly reduce the probability of misalignment of the spine (again, according to the 'health capsules' in the newspapers), but washed off the weariness of the school… to enter the usual dull boring afternoon of the period of the year, to which my geography text refers to as the 'transition period'. Don't mistake me, I am not well versed with my texts… I had to look this up.

Anyway, I geared myself for the sit - and  - be - bored routine. Programme for the day: have lunch, sleep, then lug two kg bag to classes. My father and I (don't you feel that 'my father and me' would have been better in place there?) were having lunch, watching TV, when a trailer of Stuart Little II came on… In the midst of it (the hawk part), my father casually told me that there was a mouse in the house.

Believe me, to a schoolboy, a mouse in the house is about as exciting as anything can ever be (except perhaps an electric motor). A memory of havoc in IX C, of last year flashed in front of me… a mouse in the class and there was screaming and shouting, and any more mention of it will trouble, or put into trouble many people who were witness to it (including me). I finished the remaining food, with as much speed as I could muster, and then asked my Father where he had seen it. "Under the fridge". Under the fridge, when I looked, I saw nothing more than… well the remnants of what had been the meal of the mouse (I cannot make that any more civil). The mouse, however was not to be seen anywhere in the vicinity of the refrigerator… nor near the place where the gas cylinder was kept, nor anywhere in the kitchen. Mice turned out to be better masters of hiding than I had ever reckoned them to be. Realizing then, that I was late, I left for my classes. But by past experiences with mice (if mentioned here, will put me into trouble with a lot of people) have taught me one thing - they always come after food, and some jaggery in a plastic bag, is all that is needed to trap one. Without telling anyone, I put some out near the refrigerator before going to school the next day. When I came back, I threw the lump, red ants and all, into the dustbin. This mouse was not one to be taken so easily. This time, I waited for something to happen… and almost shrank back to the sit - and - be  - bored routine. Through the course of the day, My neighbor told my father that a mouse had got into their washing machine and had gnawed on the wires inside and spoilt the gasket… and basically ruined their device, totally unlike Stuart's cute antics with a washing machine…

My father got some rat poison from the market. It proved to be effective. Too effective. I was welcomed home from school, with the tell - tale stench of a dead mouse. It seemed to come from the bathroom… where the washing machine was kept. The words of the neighbor, is what probably spurred my father into believing that the mouse had gone into, and died in the washing machine. Other things occupied My father and nothing was done about the mouse for the day. Other things occupied me too, and it was only the next morning that I was actually turned my attention towards the mouse. The day being a Saturday, I was excused from all scholastic obligations, and I watched all that was going on. My father's plan: search the Machine inside out (with a screwdriver), and then remove the mouse. I had some misgivings about this plan, but kept it to myself. The washing machine was dismantled before my eyes, and a dull gray day was turned into an exciting dull gray day, because of the wondrous world of washing machine anatomy that was unfolding before my eyes. This feeling was perhaps hindered by the reek, which I will not try to relate here, as I know of no words that can do it justice. One has to suffer it to know it - and it is an experience that does not teach anything except perhaps the knowledge of which no words can express, and the longing for the loss of the sense of smell. Anyway, the Washing machine had its innards all over the bathroom, and still there was no sign of the mouse. Maybe it was in one of those complicated crevices of the device, which only professional tools could open. Moreover, no mortal man can bear the reek of a dead mouse in a hot environment for long… and my father called for help from someone who repairs washing machines, and most probably similar such things for a living. A question troubled me, but I did not ask it. Was whoever that was going to come to remove (or judging by the state of things, to put things back) also ready to stand the stench and remove the mouse? - apparently, he had agreed because my father announced that he was going out, and that should a man come, then he should be allowed to come in and repair the thing.

Many men, in tight black outfits, wearing gas marks, with torches and disinfectant spray were poking through mangled remains of the washing machine, peeking under cracks and lighting up dark crevices with their torches. And then came the screaming, the wailing, and the… phone?

Still drowsy in my afternoon nap, I picked up the phone. "Had you paged me?" said a strong voice. "No". "is it…" he read aloud my phone number. "Yes". I was still drowsy and confused. "what is our name". I told him. "No… no, your surname". "Oh!" I told him. And then I heard a click. Still, the memory of the dream seemed real. Stubbornly believing that what I had seen was real, I went out to the corridor. Saw no one… heard no one… smelt the reek. After many moments, and a freshening splash of water to my face, I finally realized that it was all untrue. Any remnants of the dream steadily vanished from my confused brain. The doorbell rang.

My father came home, and we watched the television for a while. Then My mother came home from work. She said the stench was unbearable. I felt that I would vomit any second. Father called up five more people… all of whom promised to help out with the mouse and the washing machine. Mother and Father (actually me too) were on the brink of freaking out over the reek, and the now (not even remotely exciting) shambles of the washing machine, and the unheeded promise of five people to help with the washing machine. At this point, I cannot say less about the turmoil all of us in the house were facing.

And then, in some sudden flash on enlightenment, the source of which I can never hope to seek, a shadow of doubt fell over me. In some corner of my mind, I knew that I was right, yet I clothed my nose with the collar of my shirt and went into the bathroom, to make sure of my guess. I turned out to be right; the mouse was behind the toilet seat.

After the mouse was safe, rotting in a dustbin far away, where even the faintest vapors couldn't reach our house, and the burning of incense diffused what remained of the stench, I had plenty of time in my hands with little to do. These words you read are the results of my efforts in that time…

P.S. Does anyone know a qualified person who can fix (or rather build) a top loading washing machine (from an assortment of wires, plastic panels and screws)? 

-Aditya MJ

Panchavati