女人與老鼠的“恩怨情仇”

I am not afraid of much. I have hiked through

the Andes and the Himalayas， 1)zip-lined through a Mexican jungle， driven on motorcycles far too fast. I have given birth to three children and beaten off two separate 2)muggers 3)intent on 4)grabbing my purse. I have jumped out of a moving car to avoid a man.

Why， then， am I afraid of mice?

Recently， I came up here to 5)Prince Edward Island to open up our summer home. Not surprisingly， I had a special greeter on the front stairs: a 6)tiny gray mouse， a little 7)bitty guy who was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I tried to stay calm and 8)rational. But， since my husband wasn’t here， I had to deal with the 9)intruder myself.

“Get me a pan with a lid and a broom!”I yelled to my friend Emily， a poet who had accompanied me on this trip and who， despite being nearly six feet tall and having sailed the seas in 10)Newfoundland and 11)conquered sweaty 12)Buddhist meditations， is even more 13)panicked at the sight of a mouse than I am.

She 14)fetched me my tools while I stood guard， 15)looming over the 16)rodent. Being just a child mouse， he didn’t know whether he should go up or down to escape this giantess who， in his little mouse mind， would most likely 17)swoop down and eat him if he didn’t seek cover. He 18)scrambled up， but couldn’t 19)summit the stair; he then sat and washed his worried little face， awaiting his fate.

Emily handed me the broom and I got to work， trying to brush the mouse into the pan. In my mind， it was a perfect plan: brush the mouse into a tall 20)spaghetti pan， cover it with a lid， and take him outside (where the mouse would no doubt turn around and come back inside for more yummy toast 21)crumbs.)

Sweeping up a mouse isn’t nearly as easy as you think it will be， though. The mouse zipped back and forth on the stair to avoid the broom， with me going， “Oh no， don’t you run up my pant leg!” in both English and， for good measure， and who knows why， in Spanish. Finally the mouse decided to take his chances and tried climbing up the wall beside the staircase.

Now， mice are good climbers， but this wall had no wallpaper， so down he went， 22)plummeting to the floor. If it were one of us， it would be like falling from the Empire State Building. But the mouse just 23)scurried down the hall as if he’d meant to do that， with Emily doing a little Mexican hat dance in the hallway to keep her feet out of his path. The mouse then found his bolthole beside the front door and made for the safety of the wall， if only to drown out the 24)shrieking of his tormentors.

All that first night， I had to keep the light on， imagining the mouse scurrying up the bed frame and 25)burrowing into my pillow. All the next day， I kept 26)slippers on， for fear of stepping on this mouse or one of his many， many litter mates who are no doubt just waiting for the cover of darkness before they 27)raid our cupboards.

I told myself this was ridiculous. Irrational. I should be ashamed of myself， I thought， especially since my dad raised 28)gerbils for a living， and I routinely lifted them out of their cages to change the shavings and even fed those little buggers treats from my fingers. Yet， after I accidentally dropped one of the chocolate covered 29)almonds I was eating at my desk and it rolled into a place beneath the heavy bureau that I can’t possibly reach， I panicked all over again， imagining a whole army of mice running out to carry that huge treasure home， and oh yeah， me along with it， like some giant 30)Gulliver.

I’m not the only woman in the world afraid of mice; in fact， I don’t know a single woman who isn’t. “I would have died if that had happened to me，” my friend Andrea agreed. Then she told me a story of her own: something about finding a mouse in the trunk of her car， and her driving to a neighbor’s house at sixty miles per hour with the music blaring， hoping to scare the mouse out of its wits and keep it in the trunk. They set a trap in the trunk of the car but never caught it; to this day， Andrea checks the seats every time she gets into her car.

I finally went down to the hardware store and had a long discussion about pest control with the clerk. I couldn’t bring myself to buy traps， because I knew I’d never be able to empty them. The “have a heart” traps wouldn’t work， either， since they’re basically just fun rides for mice who can easily figure out how to hike back home. In the end I bought poison. Or rather，“mouse treats，” which I suppose are the same kind of euphemism we use when buying “roach motels.”

“I nail mine into place，” the woman explained. “That way， the mice can’t carry the bait off with them and you’ll know how much you have left.”

I haven’t put the treats out yet. I keep remembering the look on that mouse’s face， and his courageous， foolhardy attempts to scale a staircase that was his personal Mt. Everest. He was， by far， braver than I’ll ever be.

我不是個畏首畏腳的人。我曾徒步登過安第斯山和喜馬拉雅山，試過高空滑索穿越墨西哥的一個叢林，摩托車開得飛快。我生過三個孩子，分別制服過兩個蓄意搶奪我錢包的歹徒。為了避開一個人，我曾從一輛開著的車上跳下來。

然而，為什么我竟然會害怕老鼠呢？

最近，我來到我們位于愛德華王子島的避暑別墅，準備改裝一下房子。不出所料，前梯上就有一只小灰鼠特地現身“迎接”我。四目相投，小家伙跟我一樣詫異萬分。我盡力保持冷靜和理智。但是由于丈夫不在，我只得自己和這個入侵者周旋了。

“給我拿個鍋、蓋子，拿把掃帚過來！”我沖著我的朋友艾米莉嘶吼著。艾米莉是個詩人，這一趟她與我結伴而來，她不僅有近六尺（約1.8米）的身高，還曾航遍紐芬蘭的大海，酷日之下打坐冥想她也沒問題。而就是這樣一個艾米莉，她看到一只老鼠的時候比我還要驚慌。

當我正在防守，開始迫近那只嚙齒小動物的時候，艾米莉取來了我的工具。作為一只幼鼠，它不知道應該向上跑還是向下走才能擺脫這個女巨人，因為它的小腦袋在想，如果找不到遮蔽物的話，女巨人就會猛地一撲把它吃掉。它手忙腳亂想爬上樓梯，但怎么也爬不到頂。于是它只好坐下來，抹了下自己那一把愁容，干脆聽天由命了。

艾米莉遞給我掃帚，我開始動手試著把老鼠掃進鍋里。在我看來，這是個完美的計劃了。先將老鼠掃進一個煮意粉的深鍋里，然后用鍋蓋蓋住，再把它扔出去。……