Today I saw a mouse in my son’s room.

A mouse.

Stewart Little has decided to come into my house and set up camp near my son’s drawers.

I saw it and I froze.

And it was the kinda freeze that you feel like you shouldn’t even breathe. Where your air escapes your lungs.

I’m trying to find my pulse again when my daughter decided to strut into the room with her toddler swag and I screamed no! And it wasn’t just any no.

It was the loudest noooooooooooooooooooooo I’ve ever made in my life.

I decided to call my husband because there's a mouse in the house, and when there is a mouse in the house other than blow torching the house down there isn't much in the way of rational thinking.

He answers the phone and I say "mouse". I stutter because I'm terrified. This is no Mickey Mouse okay. This is Ratatouille but smaller and he isn't making some delicious soup, he's going to make babies everywhere and in my son's ears and they'll crawl in my mouth... mouse in my mouth!!!

"Huh?" He says

"Mouse in house," I say still shaking.

"Cat in hat" he replies.

"No babe, there's a mouse in Luca's room! You need to come home NOW and take it outside!"

"Oh bub you just take it outside, or just kill it"

"Kill it???"

Listen: Some fibs make parenting so much easier. (Post continues after audio.)

Obviously, this guy hasn't seen the movie 'Witches' where the witch turns into a mouse after eating soup and gets stomped on by the chef and green pus sprays out.

"There are children in the house, your children. You need to come here. I can't save them"

He laughs. He thinks I'm joking.

This face isn't joking. This face is scared that this mouse is going to radio the rescuers and call his other mice friends to come and have a pebble poo party orgy. NOT ON MY WATCH MOUSE. Not on my watch.

But of course, he can't see my face because he's on the phone.

"Okay I'm being serious there's a mouse in the house and I'm FREAKING THE F OUT." I actually did swear but I'll try and be cool in the post. Pretty sure I called the mouse the C word.

"Where is it?" he asks.

"In Luca's room."

"Where?"

"I dunno I'll open the door."

I open the door so slowly...inch by inch in snail speed, so slow that I can hear my husband asking if I'm still there.

And it's there. In the same spot.

"It's dead!!!!!" I shut the door.

Oh, my lord, the mouse is dead. I have a DEAD mouse in my house. I start to cry a little bit.

"It's dead... it never had a chance to live its life."

"Babe just go scoop it up with a piece of paper and put it in the bin. I have to go to a meeting."

So I hung up on him. Because obviously, I'm alone in this. I'm alone and I need to be the brave one... so I take a couple of swigs of whiskey and say, "Okay Laura, today is the day you will fight your biggest fear in life and remove a dead mouse from your house".

I said this about 10 times in the mirror and slapped myself a few times before I bolted down the door and went charging in like a knight in shining armour with a piece of paper screaming like the warrior woman I am and charge up onto this dead mouse in my house and I realise...

I realise it's not a mouse.

No, not a mouse at all...

It's a tiny leopard...

A tiny toy leopard.

I nod to myself and say "we shall never tell a soul about this".

My husband got home four hours later and asked me how I went. I said, "mate, I handled that shit".

Well now the mouse is outta the bag...

This post originally appeared on The Mum on The Run. You can read the original post here.

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