Yesterday I was at my wits end. Taking care of my parents is starting to get to me like nothing ever has. You think working late is bad? Try having a job that’s 24/7 and every move you make you hear someone ask, “What’re you doing?” or “Where are you going?” The fact that I *LOOK* like a teenager, does not mean I think, or act (ok maybe act sometimes) like one. I digress, but don’t worry I’m sure I’ll talk more about it later.
After reading More Cowbell’s blog today I thought, hrm… I don’t think I’ve updated my Molly “the beloved” Mole story.
Well, the house hasn’t had another mole visitor since Molly’s three appearances. There was something I learned from them, though. Moles are not quiet creatures. In fact, they can be freakin’ frighteningly loud.
My mother has a way about telling me something that really baffles me sometimes. She will call up the stairs to say something like, “Jenny, the cat is watching something.” And I have to take deeeep cleansing breaths so I won’t say something like, “And I care because?” and instead react the way I’m supposed to. On Molly’s third appearance I failed miserably at this.
I was sound asleep, having had a HORRIBLE allergy attack due to the rat dog of my brothers, coupled with his chimney one-right-after-the-other smoking. When my mother calls up the stairs, “Jenny…. are you asleep?” Now, if you’re yelling up the stairs to ask if someone’s asleep, do you really care what the answer is? I’ve never been the kind of person to wake up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, so my answer was along the lines of, “Well… obviously not anymore.” When she followed that up with, “The cat is watching something.” I nearly lost it. “That’s nice.” I call back. She says “It’s under the stove.” Now, I know we’ve had a few moles (or one really brave/stupid mole) and so not being the typical afraid of all the little creatures type of girl I said, “Well good, she’s doing her job then.” In hopes that she would agree and let me sleep. But… we all know I’m not that lucky.
Instead I had to get up, which was totally killing my benadryl high, and go down and look under the stove. I see abso-freakin’-nothing under the stove and assure her that the cat is likely crazy, or maybe chasing a spider that I don’t see. We go into the living room when all the sudden this ear piercing squeak comes from the kitchen. My immediate reaction is, something is going to blow up and I stare wide-eyed at my mother who is now clearly shaken to the core.
Apparently my cat had her eyes on Molly. Unfortunately, Molly isn’t a very bright little animal, because she ran right by an open door to escape the cat… who wasn’t even giving chase. Moles. *shrug* So, the cat chases her into a closet, but we’re unable to catch it because she had run under a rug… or so we thought. Apparently, while we were setting up the trap for the closet, Molly was running behind the fish tank.
After about 15 minutes I walked upstairs, assured that the Molly would eventually make her way into the trap, like she always did, and that when she did I’d collect her and take her outside. Unfortunately, the cat helped her a little too much and Molly went into some sort of seizure-like state. My mom called me down to witness the poor creature’s antics and I helped Molly into a mug and then put her outside, relatively close to the pond where I’d always put her (or atleast where I put all the other moles). She was doing this roll over and over and over thing and I thought for sure she was fine, but doing that because she was going into some possum-like theatrics to fool me. When my mother informed me that she didn’t see Molly where I had laid her, I was sure that I’d been right. Molly recovered and ran home.
Later that evening while I was cleaning out the pond… yeah. Poor Molly. Though I do know that drowning is supposed to be a very euphoric way to die and just before you go, you feel very calm and happy. Sorry things ended the way they did, Molly, but I’m sure you’re livin’ the life up there in mole Heaven.
I did take a picture of her, but it didn’t come out very well… and it seems sort of morbid now that she’s passed on, so I’ll spare you.