Thursday evening – Cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I heard these three words meld into one as they filtered upstairs from the family room.
“Ugh … oh … OHH!“
The last time I heard this sound there was a stink bug the size of a Buick on the living room ceiling.
I ran downstairs. OK, I walked really fast.
What? I asked Rebecca.
“Something just ran across the fireplace hearth.”
What something?
“I think it was a mouse.”
A mouse? Holy crap. Where did it go?
“Dump out Maddie’s toy box.”
Right. What am I? Some kind of an idiot?
I dumped out the dog’s toy box.
And with that, a dark blob with a tail and the speed of light ran back across the hearth and under the couch.
I screamed with a pitch high enough to embarrass all screaming little girls (and boys) everywhere.
Startled out of a sound sleep, Maddie launched from her chair like an Elon Musk rocket and landed on the top step without touching the carpet.
Rebecca almost peed on the couch. I went into A-fib.
Now what are we supposed to do? I said, my voice cracking.
“Nothing. He’s gone. They can slip through the tiniest of openings, you know.”
Not. Comforting. At. All.
Have you ever had mice? I asked.
“No, not before you moved in.”
Ouch. Kick a screaming pre-pubescent when s/he’s down.
Tomorrow we will invest our retirement nest egg in enough mouse traps to catch these rat bastards.
***
Friday morning – We went up to the Ace hardware store first thing. Who knew there were so many kinds of mouse traps? Not me.
Electronic, ultrasonic, d-CON(ick?) and multi-catch traps filled with glue, a la the old roach motel. Stick it to them all, you monster.
And then there’s the Drop in the Bucket Multiple Catch Animal Trap for Rodents ($21.99 on Amazon). The unsuspecting mice walk up a wooden plank, grab bait off a roller bar, then dizzily plunge into the bucket and drown. OMG! I wanted to call Mouse Services.
There has to be a better way. “Live” traps naturally seemed more humane, but they were not worth increasing my already-high anxiety level.
We settled on a half-dozen Victor Easy-Set Original Mouse Traps. They come pre-baited with a large, scented plastic yellow “Swiss cheese” trip pedal. Wish I’d thought of that. Heck, if I were a mouse, I’d bite it.
We added a schmear of creamy peanut butter for insurance, despite written instructions that bacon, not peanut butter or cheese, was the preferred bait of mouse-hunters. Um, no. Invasive rodents won’t get my Kirkland brand pre-cooked bacon, that’s for damn sure.
We placed traps in the basement, family room and garage. Maybe we should have bought more.
Now, we wait for them to come to mama.
As did Sister #1, who not that long ago had a well-mannered mouse offer her an oven mitt when she opened a kitchen drawer. EEK!
Apparently, they were coming in through an opening under the sink and found the drawers quite cozy. She set traps and caught a few. OK, several, as in enough to start a mouse soccer team.
“There is never only one,” she assured me.
Again. Not. Comforting. At. All.
***
Saturday morning – “Better check your traps.” Now they’re my traps. Not even a good morning?
I check my traps.
Basement. Family room. Garage.
Oh, snap! Got one.
Right in the garage next to the garden kneeler, which I’ll never use again. Frankly, it looked like a crime scene from “Law & Order: DMU.” Dead Mouse Unit. Where’s Olivia Benson when I need her?
The poor little guy was caught between the fake cheese trip pedal, remnants of his last snack stuck to his snout. I felt terrible, particularly when I had to pick it up – trap and all – and dispose of the decaying carcass.
When exactly did this become my mouse problem?
Later that day, I checked the second garage trap.
Oh, snap! Got another one.
I texted my sisters. This time, the oldest ignored me, and I received more unconditional support from Sister #2: “You’re knocking off a whole family!” (sad crying emoji for impact), she texted back.
I won’t fall for any guilt trips. I just want these uninvited guests to leave my house – preferably flat on their backs in a zip-tied Kroger bag ready for tomorrow’s trash pickup.
Reminds me of a joke.
Have you heard the one about the mouse and his friend who showed up at a neighbor’s house?
“We’d like to talk to you about cheeses,” one said.
They were church mice.
God, forgive me.
9 Comments
gramcracker8191
Rebecca and I have more in common than I realized. I almost peed my pants just reading this!
Jennifer John
As you’d say, that depends.😝❤️
Julie M Sayers
When we lived in our last abode, this was a crazy ongoing issue. I am on your side totally! In our condo, it has only been an issue in the garage. I wish you the best of luck. I am such a sissy!
Jennifer John
How can such little creatures cause such a stir?🥴
Margie Smith
I can identify with this topic.
For the first time in my life, I’ve hired an exterminator.
That is, a pest control company.
A battalion of licensed mouse killers.
I’ve had mice in my garage for many years. I think this is de rigueur for a detached garage in my suburban neighborhood. I regularly purchase little square trays filled with bright blue poison-pellets. The mice gobble up the pellets and disappear.
I repeat the same routine every autumn in my attic and basement, generally with satisfactory results. That is, I never actually see a mouse. Face to snout, that is.
One morning last week, however, things changed.
I was moseying along in my own bedroom, barefoot, minding my own business, when right there — under my ironing board (I am one of approximately two dozen people living in North America who still irons) – as I said, right there — under my ironing board — was a tiny rodent staggering in ever narrowing circles, limping, stumbling, occasionally pitching forward.
The attic door is next to my ironing board. Apparently, the little guy partook of the aforementioned blue pellets, then squeezed his tiny pliable body under the door between the attic and my bedroom before his head began to pound, his eyes glazed over and his little tummy started to churn.
I hate to admit this: I screamed.
How dumb was that? I was home alone. Who was going to hear my scream? Who was going to rescue me? And rescue me from what? A sick baby mouse?
Give me credit. At least I didn’t leap onto a chair.
Mr. Mouse toppled over. I slapped an empty clear plastic sweater box over him and watched him gasp and shudder. Even worse, I caught his little back leg under the edge of the box’s lid as I slid it under his piteous convulsing body. I felt bad about that.
He had a perfect set of tiny whiskers; a miniscule wiggly nose; soft gray fur and a white underbelly. He was extremely cute.
I flipped the sweater box – now covered with a lid — and carried it to my garden, where I considered releasing him. A friend reminded me that he was loaded with poison and would be a toxic meal for the hawk who lives in my neighborhood or for the cats who occasionally meander through my yard, looking for a nice place to pee.
So I released his little leg from between the lid and the box and let him fall back and die. I placed him gently in the trash.
I realized, at that moment, that the little blue poison-pellets had been disappearing faster than in years before and I was trekking to the hardware store a couple of times a week for replacements.
I broke down and – for the first time ever — called a pest control company.
The salesman made an appointment to visit two days later. I stuffed a blanket under the attic door and slept, albeit fitfully.
What was I afraid of? Would another sick mouse enter my room in the middle of the night and seek comfort by jumping into bed with me?
Self, I said, come on! You’re a grown woman.
(A grown woman who screams like a preteen when she sees a mouse.)
The exterminator salesman was charming. Business-like. Knowledgeable. Comforting. He put paper boots over his shoes before he stepped into my living room. He tuned in on my distress. He sympathized. He examined the scene of the crime. He searched for clues. He found evidence. We agreed on a time for the actual Mouse Killer to come and do the dastardly deed.
A few days later, the MK arrived. I expected a Dickensian-like character: Fagin perhaps, or Uriah Heep; a skeletal, stooped over, unkempt man dressed in rags and covered with rat hairs; a sniveling, shuffling n’er do well who would wring his hands with delight as he crept around my attic and basement, sniffing out rodent nests.
Hardly. The Mouse Killer was charming, knowledgeable and business-like. He also wore paper shoes. He analyzed the situation and placed his baited traps.
He will be back next week to check results. He will return yet again in another few weeks. I think my pest problem is under control.
If it isn’t – you can be sure I’ll write about it.
This is reprint of one of my blogs written about three years ago . . . Margie Smith
Kathie Grevemeyer
You are a brave lady taking care of the mouse problem yourself. After my mom passed away in Pennsylvania, the house was empty for awhile. During the years, she had mice come in under the kitchen sink and kept a mouse trap there with either salami, peanut butter or cheese.
So when I started packing up her place to get ready to sell, I would come in and check under the sink, and sometime there was a mouse. I would call my cousin, Richard, who lived next door to dispose of it. So he started checking every day, and if there was a mouse, he would take care of it.
The day I walked in and saw something on my mom’s bedroom floor, I walked in and checked, and it was a rat! No little mouse about it.
That did it, the call went into the exterminator immediately. He came out, told me because the house was next to woods and no one was in it (the mice know and send out a party invitations!) that he found numerous places they would come in. He did his thing and told me it would take two weeks to clear them out.
We found them in the basement, in the garage, outside the garage door, etc. I wrote that check gladly, and the mice were gone while I continued packing up.
Jennifer John
Oh, Kathie! This gives me the creeps. Rats?!😱
Donna
We had a few outside and one inside, and Meelo and Kitty took care of them all. The benefit of owning a cat or two.
Jennifer John
Smart. Might have to consider a cat, despite my allergies!🥴🐾