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June screamed and leapt back as well. She raced to the fireplace and grabbed the poker, brandishing it at the boot. “What’s in there?” she yelped.
“I don’t know! I felt fur! It was warm. Warm fur. Boney fur.”
June’s eyes nearly crossed. She got that look sometimes when she was scared shitless. “Oh my god, what? Fur? Holy shitting frick! It could be a spider.”
“A furry, warm spider big enough to take up the whole toe of the boot?” January said, shuddering at the thought.
“ I don’t think they’re warm blooded,” June poked at the boot with the fire poker, but nothing happened. “Maybe it’s a mouse. It has to be a mouse. Or a rat.”
January started hopping from one foot to the other. “Oh my god! I just touched that with my naked toes and then with my fingers! Come on!”
“That’s the only logical explanation. I don’t think it’s a cute little kitten.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I’m going to die. I’m going to pass out. I need to wash my hands!” A massive spider she could maybe deal with. Why did she and her sister have to inherit their mom’s phobia of small furries? She wiped her hands over her jeans feeling essence of mouse running over her entire body. Nasty fricking creatures.
“Yes, you do! Wash the hands. Don’t pass out. Don’t die. You’re going to be fine. It’s just a cute little mouse. Or rat. A wild mouse or rat.” June had pulled her feet up onto the chair as if expecting a sudden invasion of wild mice seeking refuge in their cabin.
January raced over to the black bus tub on the counter that they’d been doing dishes in. June had brought carboys of water and the kettle was still on the electric stove with warm water in it. January splashed it all into the bin. She poured liquid soap over her hands, still shifting from one foot to the other, her brain finally admitting the horror of that thing in her boot being a mouse. Or a freaking rat. She lathered herself all over, even pushing up her jacket and sweater to get at her forearms. Afterwards, she thumped the tub onto the floor and stuck her foot in it and scrubbed the heck out of it too.
“You could call Tavish to get it out for you.” June suggested.
“What?” She whipped around, her foot dripping water all over the place, her hands still wet and soapy. June was standing there with the poker, wide eyed, horrified, and otherwise very pleased with her suggestion. “Are you insane? We can’t call him. We might as well call Greg!”
“Greg’s in the city with the kids. He’d take forty-five years to get out here at the rate they get ready. The thing would be bones by then. Plus, the kids make enough fun of me being scared of mice, I don’t want to give them any more ammunition.”
“We’re not calling Tavish. Why would you even think of that?”
“He did say to call if I ever needed anything, no matter how big or small.” A quick slash of the poker through the air punctuated that statement. It almost made January smile. Almost. But her boot. The mouse. It was all just so gross and horrifying.
“Pretty sure he was talking about emergencies only, not whatever is in there.”
“Thisisan emergency!” June squealed. She pointed with the poker. “Boot. Unidentified furry creature stuck in boot.” She pointed back at herself. “One scared woman.” Then at January. “Another scared shitless woman.” She gestured at the door. “One man who is no doubt really good at removing furry things from boots and is not scared shitless. It seems to add up. I rest my case.”
January shook her head and marched over to get the tea towel off the stove door so she could dry her foot and hands off. “I’m sitting my ass down. Well away from that boot. It’ll come out by itself.”
June screamed shrilly. “And be in here with us? While we’re sleeping? It could run on our face! Or get into our beds. Dine on our food. No freaking way.”
“It’s probably scared. It just wants to go outside.” January hoped that was true, and it would scurry off—or maybe it would tell all its mouse friends about the fabulous cabin, and they’d have an influx of furry visitors.
“Go dump your boot out there, then.” June said.
“No way! What if it runs on me?”
“Just set it outside.”
“I’m not touching it!”
June jumped off her chair, opened the door, thrust the poker through the pull loop at the top of the boot, dumped it on the doorstep on its side, and quickly slammed the door shut. “There. It can run out from there and it won’t bother us. We’ll sanitize the heck out of the boot and everything will be fine.”
It seemed like a good plan, but two hours later, after endless games of cards and talking themselves down—and no sign of any other furry house guests—the boot was still there. But was it still inhabited by the horrendous creature?
“I don’t want to check,” June admitted. “We should have been watching to see if it came out.”
“It has to have come out.”
“Are you going to check it?”
“No way!”
