This is my very first post as a stay at home mom. Not that I am a "new mom," Fraser will be four months old on Saturday, but this is the first chance have had to create a place to keep track of everything that is going on in our lives since Fraser arrived. This is Fraser. Like every mother I think he is probably the cutest baby in the world, and like every mother I secretly believe that he really is the cutest baby in the world. He is also a remarkably happy and cooperative baby, most of the time.

Last night he was particularly cooperative (not that he is sleeping through the night or anything crazy like that, so all you other mothers of three through sixth month olds who are also not sleeping through the night can put down the pitchforks and torches now). He got up at about 3:00 and insisted on being fed (he's like that) and as I was rocking him in the nursery and giving him a bottle (full of breastmilk, more on this some other day) I heard the door to the attic slam. This is not good news, at 3 a.m. or any other time, since we have a walk up unfinished attic and four cats who are continually trying to gain access to the filthy wonderland they are prohibited from entering. So, as I'm rocking Fraser who is happily munching his way through his bottle, I decide I'll open the vittles vault (plastic container where we keep the cat food) after I get Fraser back to sleep and and all four cats will think they are being fed and come out of the attic. Good plan.

So I get Fraser to the "drowsy but awake" stage and take him back into our room. He's sleeping in our bed at this point (save the lecture, I need sleep) and once I get him settled I go back out into the hallway to commence the Cat Extraction plan. I walk out into the dark hallway and can vaguely see that some of the cats are gathered at the end of the hall near the attic door, and one cat is growling. Now normally the only cat that growls is Casco, or female cat, who is somewhat harassed by Brok, our big fat cat. So I flipped on the light expecting to see Casco and Brok, but Casco is nowhere to be seen. Instead I see our three male cats, Kennebec, Brok and Mr. Darcey gathered at the end of the hallway. After I moment I realize that Kennebec is doing the growling and, although he is facing away from Brok, he is clearly growling at Brok. I take a step closer to see what the disagreement is over, Kennebec turns to look at me, and there, hanging from his mouth is a mouse, no bigger that a quarter.

Now some of your might think I screamed like once of those women in silent movies when confronted with a terrifying mouse, and others of you might think that I, like a fine country wife, grabbed the cat and wrestled the mouse from his mouth, but neither would be correct. In fact, I just stood there, feeling sorry for the mouse and also surprised that it was Kennebec, the oldest and laziest of the cats present, who caught the mouse. After about 45 seconds, however, I realized that I should probably do something. I therefore woke my husband. This was not as easy of a decision as you might think, since Andy is one of those people that doesn't take well to having his sleep disturbed and I had already woken him once last night to hold Fraser while I got a bottle ready. The situation was dire however, and as the Cat Extraction plan had now morphed into a Mouse Extraction plan, I felt backup was warranted.

So I wake Andy, who comes out into the hallway just as Kennebec decides to try to make a run for the stairs down to the first floor with his mouse. He gets halfway there, but now Andy and I are standing at the top of the stairs and Kennebec stops, apparently considering who is more likely to take his prize away, the humans or Brok. As he pauses to consider the mouse starts waving its tiny arms and legs and I, always master of the obvious say "Ugh, it's alive." This adds a totally new dimension to the situation since I had assumed that Kennebec would have killed the mouse in the attic and was only guarding his kill. But nooooooo. At this moment Kennebec determines that we are definitely more of a threat to his conquest and turns and bolts back up the stairs to the attic. I head into the bedroom to get my shoes as Andy pursues the renegade into the attic.

When I get up the attic I see my husband, standing in middle of the attic in his boxers and electric blue crocs, looking none too pleased with me or our pets. We manage to corner Kennebec under the window and as soon as I grab him by the scruff drops the mouse, who lets out a tiny squeak and disappears. Andy carries Kennebec out of the attic and thus both the Cat Extraction and Mouse Extraction come to an end.

You might think, especially with a baby in the house, that I would be more concerned about the fact that there is a presumably still alive rodent in the attic of my house. Our house, however, was built in 1835 and I am constantly discovering all sorts of interesting things here. We play host to a whole variety of spiders and earlier this week I had to escort a frog out of the cellar. We also found two dead white mice, one in the attic and one in the mudroom where we are doing construction, during the heatwave last summer, so it is hardly surprising that another mouse might also be in residence. Actually, I am somewhat comforted by the fact that our cats, whose mousing prowess I previously had serious doubts about, are apparently very capable of doing exactly what nature intended, and any mice who are living in attic would be out of their little mousy minds to try to come down into the inhabited part of the house.

I am also very comforted by the fact that Fraser slept through the whole growling, chasing, scurrying episode. I choose to take this as evidence that he is becoming a good sleeper and will soon sleep through the entire night, possibly even in his own bed.