Stats update - and a mouse story
Tonight, five SNGS, two first place finishes. So thats 40% ITM and almost 82% ROI for the night. Stats for the week: 33 SNGs, 42.42% ITM, 43.25% ROI. That puts me in the green on $10+1 SNG stats for June and July. Still have some work to do to go in the green lifetime on these, though.
In humorous news, I got to bash a mouse in the head tonight. Those offended by the discovery channel and/or mouse head bashing may wish to stop here.
My mom has cancer and just got back from Mayo, and I took her out tonight to celebrate. Took her home, ducked in to her house to use the restroom, and heard a bloodcurdling scream. I burst out of the bathroom ready to throw down on what I assumed to be a burgler - and came face to face with a ferocious Mus musculus aka common house mouse. My mom is flat out terrorized by mice, like a stereotypical fourties housewife - wants to stand on a chair, and immediately tries getting on the cell phone to my dad. I calmly open the laundry room door to grab a broom to do some mouse bashing, when a second mouse runs out from the laundry room. At this point, I realize I'm in over my head, and call in professional help: Steve, my parent's cat.
A ferocious hunter and purely outdoor cat (lives in the garage, comes and goes as he pleases, mostly lives off wild game but eats at home occasionally), Steve was more than happy to lend a paw. He's a wonderfully friendly cat, immediately extending to greet me with a purr from his window ledge in the garage. But dropped on the floor of my mom's kitchen (where she still was perched on a chair, shrieking), Steve took off like a bullet. Soon he had flushed one of the mice and quickly battered it in to submission, and I had cornered another in the bottom of a closet under some boxes.
I contemplated my options - I've just about decided that I'm going to prod at the boxes in hope the mouse tries to make a run for it (while Steve sits back in the prevent defense) when I spy nothing other than an oldfashioned spring-loaded mousetrap on the closet shelf. Aparently not the first time there's been a mouse in the house. While Steve keeps a watchful eye on the closet, I duck to the pantry and blob a fingerful of creamy peanut butter (moms and mice love Jif!) on to the trap and set the spring. I gingerly place the loaded trap at the base of the boxes, and carry Steve in to the other room to give the mouse a second to work. I hadn't even gotten to the other room before I hear the distinctive BANG!. I drop Steve (as I no longer need to worry about him setting off the trap) and sure enough, he beelines for the closet - and immedately starts pounding the shit out of the trapped mouse.
If you've ever seen a cat in a serious fight/hunt, their paw speed is just amazing - imagine Roy Jones Jr. in his prime, except on meth, and you are watching him fight some poor schmuck on fast forward while you're freebasing cocaine. We're talking eight jabs a second. The doomed mouse had mostly escaped the brunt of the trap - he was pinned by a now-broken back leg, but could move around and was certainly not going anywhere. Steve had arrived like a freight train, and decided the mouse needed a serious roughing up for daring to invade the house on his watch. In the four seconds it took me to close the gap between to the closet, Steve had landed something like 75 jabs and three big uppercuts. The mouse was down faster than Tyson's career.
I applied the fatality with a quick thump on the head, and we were two mice down. Steven and I then roamed the first floor, an efficient killing duo on the warpath - and managed to locate a third mouse behind the trash compactor - Steve crouched at the compactor, tail swishing in hunter mode - I did my duty and pulled the built-in compactor free from the counter. Immediately the third mouse made a run for the border, but was quickly intercepted by the long paw of the law, and dispatched with a frenzy of left-right-left-right-left combinations. Final Score: Cat 3, Mouse 0.
Of course, I did the right thing afterwards - I left all three mouse carcasses on top of the pulled out trash compactor sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor as trophies for my father when he would return from a late night at work.
In humorous news, I got to bash a mouse in the head tonight. Those offended by the discovery channel and/or mouse head bashing may wish to stop here.
My mom has cancer and just got back from Mayo, and I took her out tonight to celebrate. Took her home, ducked in to her house to use the restroom, and heard a bloodcurdling scream. I burst out of the bathroom ready to throw down on what I assumed to be a burgler - and came face to face with a ferocious Mus musculus aka common house mouse. My mom is flat out terrorized by mice, like a stereotypical fourties housewife - wants to stand on a chair, and immediately tries getting on the cell phone to my dad. I calmly open the laundry room door to grab a broom to do some mouse bashing, when a second mouse runs out from the laundry room. At this point, I realize I'm in over my head, and call in professional help: Steve, my parent's cat.
A ferocious hunter and purely outdoor cat (lives in the garage, comes and goes as he pleases, mostly lives off wild game but eats at home occasionally), Steve was more than happy to lend a paw. He's a wonderfully friendly cat, immediately extending to greet me with a purr from his window ledge in the garage. But dropped on the floor of my mom's kitchen (where she still was perched on a chair, shrieking), Steve took off like a bullet. Soon he had flushed one of the mice and quickly battered it in to submission, and I had cornered another in the bottom of a closet under some boxes.
I contemplated my options - I've just about decided that I'm going to prod at the boxes in hope the mouse tries to make a run for it (while Steve sits back in the prevent defense) when I spy nothing other than an oldfashioned spring-loaded mousetrap on the closet shelf. Aparently not the first time there's been a mouse in the house. While Steve keeps a watchful eye on the closet, I duck to the pantry and blob a fingerful of creamy peanut butter (moms and mice love Jif!) on to the trap and set the spring. I gingerly place the loaded trap at the base of the boxes, and carry Steve in to the other room to give the mouse a second to work. I hadn't even gotten to the other room before I hear the distinctive BANG!. I drop Steve (as I no longer need to worry about him setting off the trap) and sure enough, he beelines for the closet - and immedately starts pounding the shit out of the trapped mouse.
If you've ever seen a cat in a serious fight/hunt, their paw speed is just amazing - imagine Roy Jones Jr. in his prime, except on meth, and you are watching him fight some poor schmuck on fast forward while you're freebasing cocaine. We're talking eight jabs a second. The doomed mouse had mostly escaped the brunt of the trap - he was pinned by a now-broken back leg, but could move around and was certainly not going anywhere. Steve had arrived like a freight train, and decided the mouse needed a serious roughing up for daring to invade the house on his watch. In the four seconds it took me to close the gap between to the closet, Steve had landed something like 75 jabs and three big uppercuts. The mouse was down faster than Tyson's career.
I applied the fatality with a quick thump on the head, and we were two mice down. Steven and I then roamed the first floor, an efficient killing duo on the warpath - and managed to locate a third mouse behind the trash compactor - Steve crouched at the compactor, tail swishing in hunter mode - I did my duty and pulled the built-in compactor free from the counter. Immediately the third mouse made a run for the border, but was quickly intercepted by the long paw of the law, and dispatched with a frenzy of left-right-left-right-left combinations. Final Score: Cat 3, Mouse 0.
Of course, I did the right thing afterwards - I left all three mouse carcasses on top of the pulled out trash compactor sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor as trophies for my father when he would return from a late night at work.
posted by Performify at 4:10 AM
1 Comments:
Thank God no one from PETA reads this blog
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