This morning I got up at my normal weekday time–5:00 (that’s the in the a.m. I know, aren’t I crazy). Still half asleep, I stumbled downstairs to start a pot of coffee. I was just walking out of the bathroom and into our kitchen when something made me look at the sink. It was probably the fact that I had gotten a glimpse of panicked movement out of the corner of my eye and I turned to see what was causing it. And then I saw IT.
In the sink.
Oh. Em. Gee.
Okay, let’s just get this straight right now–unless it’s a puppy, I never want to find an animal in my sink. I hate mice and moles and anything tiny like that, including guinea pigs and hamsters (which is why if Zoey decides she needs one when she’s older, I will NOT be taking care of it). I don’t care if some weirdos think they’re cute and cuddly and nice house pets. To me, they’re gross and I’d rather have a big dumb dog any day.
So, kind of frozen in a is-this-really-happening? vibe, I stared at the mole in our sink for a couple of seconds, watching it try with all its might to scurry up the side of the sink. But it couldn’t quite make it to the top and it kept sliding back down towards the drain. All I could think was, Oh my God, now we have to move.
It took me a few more seconds to convince myself that if I moved past the sink to the stairs, the mole wouldn’t suddenly acquire Olympic skills and vault out of the sink to land on me and kill me.
I knew I had to do something; we couldn’t stay here like this forever–the mole and me. I had to be strong and brave. I had to take care of this situation. I’m a grown-up after all and I can take care of one measly little mole, right?
I totally went back upstairs and woke Greg up.
Being that he’s an animal lover, he wasn’t even remotely surly about being woken up at five in the morning to remove an unwanted houseguest. He just went downstairs, grabbed his heavy gloves he uses for hauling firewood and a dish towel (yeah, THAT went straight into the laundry when he was done) and lovingly carried the little guy outside of our house.
Naturally, as soon as he touched the mole, it started chirping kind of like a dolphin and that got Scout and Brutus barking. I had been planning on staying upstairs with the dogs until Greg returned and told me that the mole was gone and he had cloroxed the whole downstairs and built us a new kitchen so I would never have to go into that mole-touched one again. But then the dogs started barking and running down the stairs and I had to rush downstairs with them to hush them because Zoey was still sleeping and if they wake the baby up before six-thirty, we’re all in trouble.
I stopped on the third step from the bottom, though, because Greg was still carrying his quarry to the back door and if that thing fell out of the dish towel, there was no way I wanted to be standing on the kitchen floor for it to get me. So I stayed on the stairs until Greg came back inside, told me no less than three times that the mole was gone and then he disappeared back up the stairs to go back to sleep.
I walked the rest of the way downstairs and warily, moved toward the coffeemaker, which just happens to be right next to the sink. I kept an eye on the sink in case any of the mole’s friends came looking for him, but thankfully, the rest of my morning was mole-free.