Out with the Cookies, In With a Man and His Cats

by Jerri Schlenker

My now husband, Chris, and I had had our first date the previous weekend.  Our plan was to see each other again as soon as possible, but the following week was Thanksgiving.  He would be driving to Georgia to see his family. He suggested that I might go as well; but I didn’t feel comfortable meeting his family on a second date. My own plans were to be out of town, just a day trip, to my sister’s house for Thanksgiving.

Suddenly, his family was delaying their Thanksgiving holiday get together for the following week.  Chris informed me he could now spend that time with me.  I protested, but on a deeper level I really liked his boldness.  At the same time, I thought, he wants to meet my family this soon?  I expressed this concern to him, to which he replied, it was fine with him.  Still, hesitating, I made a few more excuses.  I was contemplating the sanity of my relatives and analyzing the odds of a third date with him after the holiday. I think there are times when we all think our family is a little strange in some ways and toy with the idea of being adopted.  He assured me that he could handle any family circumstances.  Still not convinced my last excuse was that I was going to be really busy cleaning plus cooking some dishes to take to my sister’s.  Basically I was going to have to clean my oven, which hadn’t been cleaned in the fifteen years of ownership.  He countered with, “I’ll clean your oven.”  We were having this conversation on the phone.  There was a moment of silence.  I’m kind of flabbergasted at this point, thinking he wants to spend Thanksgiving so badly with me that he’ll clean my oven.  After somewhat of a lengthy silence, a cautiously drawn out “okay” just poured out of my mouth.  I certainly didn’t want the oven-cleaning task.  After all I had avoided it for fifteen years.

Now, should I tell him the real reason I have to clean the oven? I hadn’t used it in several months.  It was just too sickening for me.  I was already pretty sure at this point that this was the guy for me.  He definitely had me after, “I’ll clean your oven.”
So I might as well tell him all my little filthy secrets. A few months prior to meeting him, mice were wreaking misery in my life. My cat wasn’t dealing appropriately with the problem.  I couldn’t bring myself to handle mousetraps.  That was disgusting to me.  I didn’t want to put the poison out.  That was gross as well and almost worse than the mice.  For then I would have to know every area of the house they inhabited.  Mickey and Minnie knew they had me licked.  Seeing one always resulted in irrepressible screams. Luckily I live out in the country where no one could hear me.  Otherwise, neighbors might be calling the police.

So what do my oven and a mouse problem have in common you ask, and how do cookies enter into it? I was putting everything I could in Tupperware containers, using the microwave and oven in addition for storage thinking they were mouse proof.  Either I wasn’t correct about the oven, or one slipped in behind my back while I had the door open.  As the microwave was crammed full, I thought I would put a bag of one of my once favorite cookies, brand name which I won’t mention, in the oven.  On the next day when I wanted one, I opened the oven.  The cookies along with the oven were a disaster.  Guess who was still in the oven with them? I think it had grown sluggish from over eating.  After my blood-curdling scream, I quickly closed the door.  Not wanting people to know I had mice, I called a friend in a different town, actually, a different country, asking what I should do.  Sometimes my life resembles “I Love Lucy” episodes.  We’ll call my friend Ethel in Germany.  It was at least temporary moral support.  I finally did the only thing I knew to do.  I turned up the heat. I mean that literally.  I turned the oven on. I think the poor creature was already half dead from the cookies and suffocation.  Or maybe I was just telling myself that to ease my conscious.  Then there was the task of getting it out.  I know I did it, but I can’t even comment on that part of the cover-up, uh, I mean clean up, as it’s all a blur.  Somehow, I erased it from my memory.

Ricky, I mean Chris, responded to the confession with laughter   saying, “Do you think you’re the only person who’s ever had mice?”  I left him alone to clean the oven while I went about my own tasks feeling relieved that it was now in his able hands.  He scrubbed it down so hard, both inside and out, that he had taken off some of the numbers on the dial, which he put back on with a magic marker.  The oven finally gave out, probably from shock from the mouse and the cleaning.  I replaced it a month before we got married.  Needless to say those cookies are no longer on my grocery list.  I try to avert my eyes in that aisle.

We married and Chris moved in bringing his two cats. I dressed them with cute little camouflage outfits, equipped them with helmets and Tommy guns, and told them to patrol the perimeters of the house. Well, not actually – that’s just one of my weird fantasies.  The other one concerns Cylons – that story maybe another time. One cat ran away.  The other lived to an old age catching mice until the end.

Maybe we shouldn’t have named the new cat Buddha.  He’s rather a pacifist.

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Tags: Anniversary, Buddha, Cat, Cookies, Dating, humor, love, relationships, Thanksgiving

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