Mrs Fit arrived on our doorstep looking harassed and extremely agitated. Her bulging suitcase wobbled precariously on the step beside her.
“Sorry for turning up like this but I had to get away. You’ve no idea what I’ve had to put up with. It’s been diabolical,” she ranted as she dragged her case inside.
“What’s happened?” I asked confused. Had she left Freddy. Where was Little Miss Fit?
“I’m getting the blame for killing him!” she raged. “As if I could ever kill anything?”
“Who exactly did you kill?” Smarts asked calmly eyeing off the knife block. “Was it Freddy?”
“Freddy? Why would I kill Freddy?” she asked. “On second thoughts maybe I should kill Freddy, it’s his fault this has all happened.”
“What is going on?” I asked, wishing I had put emergency services on speed dial.
“That rotten mouse that drowned in my glass of water of course. You know the one you blogged about,” she looked at my accusingly. “Max the Mouse, who had been the Grade Two class pet for three years, until he spent the weekend at our house.”
“But didn’t Freddy replace him with another mouse that looked exactly like Max?” Smarts asked.
“Freddy certainly did replace him, but Max the Mouse 2 spontaneously gave birth to eight little babies in the middle of religious studies yesterday. The kids couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Nor could poor Mrs Pimbelberry, the teacher, who declared it a miracle, just like the Virgin Mary’s. Then she spent the rest of the day trying to explain what a virgin is to a bunch of eight year olds. Not an easy task.
As for the kids, they’re all insisting that they be called Virgin Harriet or Virgin Eugene depending on whatever their first name is. One has even started a petition to the Pope requesting Virgin Max be made a Saint.
And you can only imagine what the parents are saying. Mrs Pimbelberry is convinced they want her lynched and she’s probably quite right.
Of course I had to come clean and now my once, sweet, little daughter whispers “Murderer”, whenever she sees me. So please, may I stay here for a few days, until this blows over? I’ve heard Bogan Betty has been making advances at the PE teacher so the next scandal is well and truly on its way.”
We put into our room, she was obviously exhausted, and we bunked in with the kids. But the next morning she claimed she could hear mice scratching at the bedroom door demanding to be let.
We didn’t believe her and put it down to the bottle of vodka we found lying half empty beside the bed.
The next night, however, we were all woken to her screaming hysterically. There she was, jumping up and down on the bed as a fat, furry, rather large mouse, (almost rat like) danced around her feet.
Then we were all jumping hysterically on the bed as his fat, furry, friends ran around and around the bed laughing at us.
And that was the last we saw of Mrs Fit. She packed her case and deserted us.
For weeks after we were kept awake by the gnawing, scurrying and scratching of millions of mice, (okay don’t quote me) for hours and hours on end every, single, night. Mouse traps were set and bait was hidden but all remained untouched.
I nearly lost my mind when three tiny newborns fell from the hose of the vacuum cleaner, all dead and only hours old. I convinced myself it was an omen and was on the lookout for the rosy, red, rash of the Plague.
Then Smarts accidentally flushed a mouse down the loo, only noticing its twitching tail before it was too late. What a way to go!
The bath was turned into their skate park, the lounge room their running track and the contents of the bin was their preferred fast food.
Probably the worst thing of all though, was finding fresh droppings in between the sheets each morning. How could that possibly happen?
Then just when we were all on the brink of insanity they disappeared. It was as though they had never been.
I think Max the Mouse has had his revenge after all, don’t you?