We have looked after my sister’s Melbourne home many times while they have been overseas. A crucial part of this house-sitting has been Maddie the cat. Loved by all—nervy, contrary, needing much attention some of the time, not at all at others—Maddie was an innate hunter. Intermittently she would bring a mouse inside after her night prowling. She would play with it before annihilation occurred.
In the early hours one morning, I awoke to hear a thwack thwack from the passage. I roused my partner. Maddie was thumping the head of a mouse against the bedroom door.
‘Get it out!’ I yelled. ‘Get rid of it. I don’t care if it’s dead or half alive…get it out!’ I stood on the bed, knees trembling, heart racing.
‘It’s only a poor mouse,’ responded my partner as he held it up by the tail.
‘Don’t touch it!’ I shrieked in revulsion, thinking of vermin and plagues.
‘How am I to get rid of it otherwise?’ he grumbled as he took the creature outside. Maddie stared at us in wonder. She had been so keen to show off her night hunting trophy.
About a year ago a mice plague hit my suburb. It is near a river; there is much surrounding foliage, including fruit trees. For the first time I saw several mice (or were they rats?) scuttle across my back courtyard. And, shock horror, they could be heard in the ceiling at night, their scurrying and scratching keeping me awake until dawn.
After the pest people had checked the roof, they clambered inside it through the passage manhole, and reassured me their poison would eradicate the mice within a few weeks. Wax blocks in black boxes had also been placed in the courtyard. That night I lay awake, terrified one or two may have escaped into the house through the open manhole, while the pest exterminators were examining the roof. I sensed glowing eyes staring up at my bed, curious claws in the wardrobe.
I pulled myself together. Gradually I calmed as I thought of the poison taking hold day by day.
So where does my fear of rodents come from?
I visited the Kruger National Park in South Africa many times as a child. I delighted in a pride of lions, wanting to get closer. They resembled my cats at home, only larger. The elephants appeared calm and gentle, affectionate, protective of their young. Zebras were for me glamorous horses. When I stared into the gaping mouth of a hippo (yes, there was a barrier between us as well as a strapping ranger at my side), I remember thinking it should have brushed its teeth more often. I had no fear, only fascination. I had no idea the hippopotamus is one of the deadliest animals in the world. My love of South Africa’s wild-life is still deep within me.
And yet, a tiny creature can terrify me. Apparently, I am not alone. What is it about mice and women?
Burnside Writers Group 