So there I was, sitting on the couch, watching TV with Maisie gently snoring beside me, when a mouse went by. It was brown and shiny and very, very fat. And slow. I, however, was fast. Quicker than you can shriek "cartoon cliche!" I leaped onto a nearby chair. The mouse, meanwhile, heaved itself up the wall behind the armoire and promptly got stuck. I got a broom.

Nobody moved for a long, long time, not even Meredith on Grey's Anatomy. She broke up with the cute brain surgeon for about a second and a half and then they got right back together again. See? No movement. Except for the mouse, who somehow sucked in his gut enough to drop to the floor and race to the other side of the room, pale (ew) tail squiggling behind him.

Thinking quickly I called Patsy, the cat, who ran right up to the filing cabinet and said, "He's in there, dummy, in the third drawer up, and oh, by the way, the Nineteenth Amendment no longer applies to you."

So I shooed her off, slammed the drawer shut with the broom handle and shoved the entire filing cabinet outside, onto the the deck, where it sits right now, waiting for the mouse to jump out and move in with my neighbors. And because I just can't seem to help myself, I screamed as I took this picture. And then I asked Hillary Clinton for forgiveness for acting like such a helpless girl.