Can I be Frank?: Mouseket-FEARS

Irony and karma are funny things.  Believe in them or not…it is hard to refute certain coincidences that seem to occur at some odd junctures in life. 

Here is one from this past week.

My wife recently booked our family’s inaugural trip to Disney World. {Cue the “It’s a Small World After All” cover music}  We are very excited.  We have actually chosen to keep it from the kids until the trip gets a bit closer for fear they may not sleep for the next couple months in anticipation; so if you happen to run into them at the liquor store or race track, don’t say anything. 

And speaking of fear, that is the basis for where this TAIL (misspelling: intended) is headed.

What is the most signature and recognized character representing the Disney brand?

Exactly. Mickey Mouse.  The squeaky-voiced little darling has been the cornerstone of all things Disney for nearly a century.  Kind, funny, innocent Mickey.  What’s not love?  The fact is that little rodent has more international name and identity recognition that Michael Jordan, the Pope and the Dali Lama combined, which leads me to my story. 

As my wife and I have spent a large portion of our private conversations planning our stay in Mickey’s backyard I discovered we had an interested 3^rd party pay us a visit.  No it wasn’t Mickey, but a distant relative that decided he wanted to move in.

3:00AM Wednesday

Typical of my nocturnal habits I found myself wide awake staring at the ceiling.  In the interest of being considerate to my sound asleep spouse, I decided to get up, go downstairs and watch some TV until the sleep demons disappeared.  Per my usual, I was watching some terrible movie I had likely seen 328 times.  As I lay on my couch like an insomniac zombie I heard a noise.  What was it?  Sounds like a ‘pinging’.  A tapping, almost? At first, I just thought it was the pounding rain that was coming down outside. As this annoying and unidentifiable sound lingered I became curious.  What is it?  I muted the TV and listened closer.  That is definitely not the rain.  The sound seemed to come from the corner of the family room that I was sitting it; a rapid scratching sound.  Uh oh.  Yeah, I know what that is….some animal (or animals) is trying to claw his or her way in from the driving rain for a warm retreat inside Casa McCabe. 

You know what; I think am tired after all.  I ran back up to bed and acted like I never heard a peep.

7:00AM Wednesday

The household is slowly waking up and getting ready to tackle another busy day.  The three little ones were playing in the family room.  I was making school lunches and my wife was picking out their clothes for the day.  And then my fear from hours earlier became a reality.

“DADDY!” yelped my 8 year old.

“What is it?” I crabbily responded, assuming it was just another demand for cereal or orange juice.

“I saw a mouse!” she stated with conviction.

Crap.

“Well, come out here then,” I instructed as if I actually had this home invasion situation under control.  After all, why would I join her in the den where the attacker was?

I did the logical thing; barricaded us in the kitchen from this monster.  Our home is such that we have 2 doors that can be closed, cutting off the balance of the house from the family room where our new friend was spotted.  Problem solved, right?  Clearly we have a new sheriff in town and we needed to respect his rules.  I sent the kids upstairs and I quickly followed.  Of course, they immediately relayed this news to their mother.  In a calm and collected manner she told them not to worry and get dressed.  I casually shared my ideas;

“Hon, why don’t you head to the store for a few traps?” 

Of course, I had to work so I was completely putting the onus on her to rid us of this varmint.  She concurred.  I quickly showered, dressed and got the hell out of that rats nest before that beast attacked me.  Good luck gang!  I’m out of here!

5:30PM Wednesday

The day came and went much like any other.  I return home to find several traps strategically placed around our house.  Kids doing homework.  Wife making dinner.  Perhaps our furry little intruder has made his way back to the wilderness?  God, I certainly hope so.

And then it happened.

Right around bedtime, I hear a shriek from my wife.  I was (thankfully) upstairs prepping the gang for bed.

“What is it,” I gingerly asked even though I knew the answer.

“Come quick! Hurry,” she demanded.

“Why?” cried the fraidie cat (well, actually, a cat would have not been afraid and been perfect in this instance.  Anyway…)

“Just get down here,” she sternly advised.

“No!  What’s the matter,” I squeamishly retorted?

“Frank!  Now!”

Crap.

I reluctantly and slowly began the march down the stairs already knowing what was in store for me.

And there it was.

As my bride stood on a kitchen chair pointing, I saw my new arch nemesis trapped in the sticky glue trap she had planted.

(DISCAIMER: Before all you animal loving activists start screaming I will apologize in advance.  I realize these types of traps may not be the most humanitarian, but I do not have a good answer for you.  No one in my house, me in particular, has the knowledge or intestinal fortitude to safely capture and release an animal from our domain.  Sorry.  But those are the facts.  And it’s not like I trapped a bottle-nose dolphin or a bald eagle in my house…so relax!)

As I stood like a statue watching “Jerry” struggle in the crazy glue contraption I was being yelled at to take some sort of action.

“Pick it up!  Take it outside! ” the Mrs. requested.

Slow it down, lady.

“How do you expect me to do that?  He is still squirming around!  What if he bites me?” I rebutted.

“Frank!  Do something!  He is in the middle of our kitchen!”

“I don’t want to.  You do something.” I sadly attempted to turn the tables around.

No more words were needed on her part.  The glare from hell confirmed that I was going to have to, at least, attempt to be the “man of the house” right then.

Crap. 

Not knowing what to do I go out to the shed to get a shovel.  I figured if I could carefully scoop up Ratatouille, get him outside and wish him well.  That’s what I thought I was going to do.

As I entered the kitchen to spouse and mouse, I panicked. 

Spouse continues to instruct me, the kids are yelling from upstairs to what all the scuttlebutt was about, and I panicked. 

As I approached Mighty Mouse (I say that because at that moment in time I was 100% convinced he was going to free himself and fly into my mouth) I panicked and instead of scooping him up… I plunked him with the shovel.

“Frank!  What are you doing?” the frantic spouse yelled at the panicked spouse about this mouse in our house.

“What?  I don’t know.  He jumped at me!”  I swear to you, this is what I said.

(Expletive from frantic spouse)

Now, our little buddy is not only stuck, but agitated. 

Oh man, I am sorry.  I didn’t mean it!  Come on.  Hang in there, dude!  I’ll get you out of this mess!  I quickly scooped the tiny fella up and brought him back to his home…well, by ‘home’ I mean ‘my garbage can’. 

I am sorry.  I really am.  But, I have a family to think about and protect.

Godspeed, buddy.  I hope Mickey doesn’t find out or we may be exiled from the Magic Kingdom.

P.S.  Don’t forget to catch more of my nonsense each Thursday night from 7:00-9:00PM on AM radio WCAP.  Listen on the website, www.980wcap.com and follow the show on Facebook.