Eating cheese and hanging on…

I just ate two slices of Kraft American Cheese and am considering having one more but that would require me to get up and go downstairs to retrieve another piece from the refrigerator. Plus, on my journey to the fridge, I would want to check on the mouse that our cat, Cricket, brought up to the house about an hour ago.

Cricket was playing that horrible “game” that cats engage in to torture mice. She had the mouse cornered and was clearly enjoying the panic the little guy was exhibiting. We wrangled Cricket back into the house and gave the mouse some room to move. While I’m hoping it escaped back into the “wild” of Suburban Aurora, I’m concerned that it dropped some mouse pellets and gave up, which means I’m going to have to dispose of it, which really puts me off getting that third slice of cheese.

However, if the mouse is still alive, I could share a piece of Kraft American cheese with the little fella. After all, I own the cat that brought him great misery, the least I could do would be to give him a bit of cheese. Do they even like American cheese? Cuz the only other sort I have is pepper jack and gruyere. And I’m not giving him the expensive stuff. I don’t care if he is dying. Oh, okay. I do care. And if he asks for it, I’ll give it to him.

I’m stalling. I really don’t want to go down and face a dead mouse by my front porch. Oh, okay. I’m going. I’M GOING!

Dammit. He’s dead. Now I’m feeling very guilty that I didn’t go down for that cheese a bit earlier. Maybe he just needed a teeny-tiny bit of cheese to gain enough strength to keep on going. Make it back to his family and friends. Spin his yarn about his ordeal with the big scary cat named Cricket. He’d move up in the ranks of bravery within his community. Maybe even earn a medal. But instead, he’s found his final resting place here in Southeast Aurora. I fashioned a casket out of a USPS Priority Mail flat rate box cushioned with some paper towels and placed him (gently) in the dumpster.

I’m trying really hard to not feel guilty about it.

Guilt is such a wasteful emotion, isn’t it? I spend so much time feeling bad about things that just are not in my control. And I’m feeling horrible about that little mouse. I know Cricket was just doing her job. Bringing her “present” back to her home shows that she loves us, right? At least, that’s what some crazy New-Age cat whisperer has decided. Until cats can speak for themselves, we have to depend on the experts to decipher the feline’s odd behavior. Meanwhile, I’m going to sulk that I have yet another dirty task added to my list of chores. I am so NOT doing laundry after burying a dead mouse. I will only participate in one grueling chore per day and I’ve reached my limit. So there.

On top of the mouse drama, I’m waiting for Sloan-Kettering to call. Today is the weekly Tuesday Blood Run to see if Ben has maintained his eligibility to receive antibodies. We missed last week’s testing cut off by one hour (thanks to a FedEx flight delay) so we are not in New York this week. There is really no issue with being a week behind, I’m just hoping they have enough beds open so Ben can get the next round over with. I’m anxious. He’s anxious. We’re all anxious and hanging on as best as we can.

It reminds me of a grasshopper I picked up a few days ago while at Sam’s Club. I came out with my treasure trove of bulk items, packed them in the van and buckled in to go pick up Yoshi from his play date. As I was backing out of my parking spot I noticed a giant grass hopper hanging on to my windshield. He was definitely in the way — smack dab in the middle of my line of sight. I briefly considered turning on the wipers to shoo him away but quickly discarded that as cruel. So, I decided to go with it. If he was game, I’d give him a ride.

I was only going a couple of miles down the road but the journey would take us to a different town in a different county. The grasshopper was going to have to change his voting district. Then I wondered what my little green friend was running from? As I accelerated from 30 to 35, he kept hanging on. Was he leaving behind a nagging wife? Reeling from a recent job loss? It was hard to ask through the thick plate glass of the windshield, so I just kept driving. The speedometer crept from 35 to 40. An occasional flap of his leg had me questioning his endurance but I kept climbing nonetheless. 40 to 45. I had reached the speed limit of the new town in the next county and still the little booger hung on. When I came to a stoplight, my new friend flew off to experience his new life.

I admit that I’m a little jealous that he flitted away so breezily. No “thank you” for the ride or even a tip of the hat. Heck, I would have taken a half-hearted salute from my little green buddy. But no. Off he went to find happiness. I really do hope he finds it. And someday comes back to tell me all about it.