Of Mice And Men (With Apologies To John Steinbeck)

Last night our cat caught a mouse. This was his second that we know about.  (Well, strictly speaking, I only found the rear quarter of his previous catch.)  My SO heard some strange noises and went downstairs to investigate. She screamed (or yelled loudly) when she discovered it was a mouse. I came running and gallantly saved her from the dangerous mouse. The cat recognizing the alpha male in the house gladly relinquished his catch. With a McGeyver-esque use of a Tupperware bowl and a newspaper, the mouse was captured.  I'm not entirely sure who was the more stunned.  Once the dangerous mouse was secured it was humanely returned to the wild (e.g. the street in front of the neighbor's house), free to pursue another evenings mischief. 

It had been a rough day indeed.  My mother called while I was on a conference call (isn't the mute button wonderful) and I told her that I would call her back.  When I did, some 45 minutes later, we chatted about family and other non-essential things.  That's when things got a little weird.  She lost track of our conversation, not an unusual occurance, but when she couldn't remember things that I told her moments before (like the date) I was getting a bit concerned.  It's hard to diagnose problems across the country.  I managed to get a hold of my father how was having lunch.  Apparently it was noisey in the restaurant and I couldn't quite make myself understood.  Eventually, the "Go Home" imperative was understood.  I kept switching phones with my SO since I didn't want to leave her.  Thank goodness all was well in the end.

The moral of the story:  Getting old is a bitch and back up your disk (both mental and physical).