Bed Partner

Last night, I fell asleep on my bed as soon as the Hornetss-Spurs game got underway, and I slept through the first three quarters. Judging by the score, I'm glad to have missed what I did. I watched the fourth quarter, in which the Hornets closed a 15-point gap down to three, and then missed a couple of three-pointers that would have tied it with under a minute to play.

After that, I found myself awake and restless. I pattered around the house for a while, and when I finally went back to the bedroom, Blossom (the 55 pound Bassett hound) was lying next to a live mouse. They were both awake but calm, sitting together like they had been friends for years.

I knew we had a rodent in the kitchen, as one of cats -- Nigel II -- had been spending his nights staring at the stove waiting for a chance to attack. I don't know if he brought the mouse into bed as a gift for Bloss, or if he just flushed out the mouse, and Blossom took it as her own pet. Probably the latter.

I considered going to get a camera to take a picture of Blossom and her friend, but I didn't want to return and find the mouse under the covers or anything, so I passed on the pic.

I don't know where it came from, but we have one of those things that first offense DWI convicts use to pick up trash on the side of the highway without breaking their backs. You squeeze a handle, and the end closes up to grab whatever it surrounds.

I got that, and tried to close it over the mouse. He squirmed out, but I guess he was too stunned or too hurt to try to make a real run for it. I grabbed again, this time for the shoulders. I had a good hold on him, but I spoke out loud to the mouse, explaining that his only hope of getting out of this whole thing alive was to be still and let me take him outside. I don't really care about his little rodent life, but I didn't step out of bed and plant a foot into a dead gutted mouse first thing in the morning either.

I carried the little guy to the front door and flung him in the bushes.