I've had my share of the pests of the night. Centipedes? Check. (In my bed no less). Bats? Of course (in a scenario in which I brandished an umbrella and allowed a group of strangers into my house with make-shift nets- one out of pole vaulting sticks- to chase it around my bedroom). So obviously now that I've somewhat overcome my fear of those two known one-time residents of my apartment, or at least tried to avoid thinking about the possibility of them returning, I should have known that it would be time for a new pest in my life.

At exactly 1:30 am this morning, I sat up like a shot in my bed as my cat, whose one job is to protect me from things while I'm vulnerably slumbering, jumped and dashed at full-cat-speed underneath my bed. There were sounds of a scuffle, but my mind went to simple reasoning at first: this animal is crazy. Wonderful. Time for feline therapy or new ownership. Those fears were unfounded, when he jumped peacefully back onto my bed, carrying a shadow of something in his mouth. This is the point when I screamed.

Super kitty (who also shares well with others?) ran into the living room with me in hot pursuit. What to do: trap it under something? Get my cat to stop mauling it? Throw up my hands ("It's been fun!") and just walk out the apartment door, to take up permanent residence in my car?

Well, in the commotion caused by my clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen, my cat lost hold of the mouse, who disappeared immediately behind my pink easy chair. Whew, right? Case closed: the mouse is faster than the cat, and can run around all its heart desires, as long as it's when I'm asleep and under the condition that it doesn't run on top of my bed (a clause which all night-crawlers do abide with in my imagination).

Not so fast. While I was sighing and wiping my brow (as "little mouse in my bed" fear is a new kind of adrenaline rush for me), I see that my cat has somehow debilitated the mouse in my momentary absence, and the animals is being tossed around at the foot of my bed. I finally have my chance to trap it, which I did, with my Le Creuset pot; Coq au vin will never be the same again.

So there is lies, under my pot, while I sit here and debate what to do next. Lift up the pot and somehow get the mouse in the trash? What if it's still alive? Slide something durable underneath the pot and then place it all outside? What if it's still alive? Leave the pot there if it's still alive? Then it will surely die of asphyxiation.

So here I sit. I'm wide awake from the horrible rush of rodent presence, but I can sense tomorrow's fatigue in the corners of my very sleepy eyes. I hate being awake, because now I know the truth about my luck: it's only a matter of time before cockroaches, snakes, and possibly owls stake a claim in this place of nocturnal nightmares. At least they'll have something to eat.