On a Sunday afternoon my partner leaves to visit friends. I stay at home, but not alone as I was thinking.
I can deal with not being able to join him and see others. But then he tells me they played cards with the four of them, including the four year old daughter of those friends. I sigh and try not to cry. Is that my uterus, twisting and turning, calling for my attention? It is not, it just sounds like a lovely way to spend a lazy afternoon. It would have been nice to play cards or something like that.
At night, when I am in bed, I hear the patter of tiny feet. This is not my imagination, apparently we have mice in the attic. We had them the first winter we moved into this house, thirteen years ago, and now they are back. I will ask my partner to put out the mousetrap. It is one that catches the mice, but does not harm or injure them. And I start to look forward to catching mice, perhaps we can keep them as pets. Is that my uterus suggesting to keep mice as surrogate kids? Or is my brain so bored by being ill, that it thinks these tiny creatures would be nice for company?
I hear them again, and realize that it is rather noisy for mice. What if I am really listening to feet, but feet that are perhaps not that tiny? We might have rats in the attic. Rats?!
Now excuse me for making the lame joke, that I rather have a rat in the attic, than a rat in the kitchen. Haha! Let’s just hope the trap is big enough.
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