Amanda screwed up her courage and advanced on the enemy, her only
weapon clenched in her trembling grip. Cautious breath hissed
between her teeth as she edged closer and reached for the handle. No
backing down now.
Timing was the key. She waited for just the right moment. Where was
he? She listened, but no sounds--not a thump or the most delicate
scratch-- disturbed the charged silence. Maybe he was gone. But
there was too much at stake to leave this final confrontation to
chance.
He was stalking her. He had to be. Every time she turned around,
there was more evidence of his presence. An invader was prowling
through her home at night--eating her food and frightening her
mother.
Well, it was going to stop.
She could deal with him. She'd seen his kind before. Amanda grabbed
the knob, took a last deep, steadying breath, and brandished her
weapon. Without warning, she yanked the door open.
"Gotcha!"
Nothing.
With the caution instilled by her Agency training, Amanda readied her
weapon--fearing the attack that could come at any moment.
Using her left hand and gripping the coffee can in her right, she
emptied the overstuffed cupboard shelves. She started with the
Wheaties, and then moved on to the spaghetti and oatmeal. Canned
vegetables were next, leaving just the lone box of gingerbread mix
left over from Christmas.
She eased the last box from the empty shelf . . .
. . . still nothing.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she leaned against the counter to catch her
breath. But should she be relieved or worried? What if the villain
reappeared? Perhaps during dinner?
The jumbled boxes and cans on the counter drew her mind away from
that ominous future and locked her attention firmly in the present.
Clean up now, strategy later.
How did all this stuff fit in there? She'd need a shoehorn to cram
everything into those shelves, or at least a little elbow grease.
After reorganizing, finagling, and finally, a couple of firm shoves,
everything was back in place. Not so hard.
Well, almost everything. The lone cereal box on the counter mocked
her. Amanda eyed it with determination. There was no way that a
simple box of Wheaties was going to win. Grasping the
offending "Breakfast of Champions," she tipped it on its side and
aimed for the last open space in the cupboard.
"What the--!" The cereal box flew straight up in the air--when the
mouse dropped from a hole in the bottom and bounced on the counter.
As the little beast took off running, Amanda snatched the coffee can
and dove to intercept the renegade.
The can clanged against the countertop, as she tried desperately to
capture the tiny mouse as it slid across the tiles.
Bang--missed again!
Bang . . . Bang . . . Bang . . .
"Oh, I got you now, you little monster! Take that!" The coffee can
dropped over her prey.
Whew!
She hadn't wanted to hurt the poor little thing, but there was no
place for a rodent in her clean cupboards. Now, she had him in her
clutches.
It was almost a physical shock when the cold hand of truth brushed
aside the first flush of victory. She was as trapped as the mouse.
When the edge of the can skittered on the ceramic tiles, Amanda's
heart jumped in her chest. She leaned a little harder. The can
bobbled. Putting her weight on the can, she held on with both
hands. Strong little thing . . .
Now what? She couldn't see an easy way to get him out from under the
can. And she sure wasn't about to touch him.
There was only one thing left to do.
"Lee? Could you get in here? I need you to do me a little
favor . . ."
The End
Story Notes:
Timeframe: The marriage is common knowledge.