We live in an old house.
I love our house. It's totally imperfect and needs some work done to it, but
I still love it. I just wanted to state that for the record.
One of the things I hate about living in an old house is the
mice.
I hate mice. They are teeny tiny and actually kind of cute when their first name is Mickey or Minnie, but for some reason they have this way of completely disturbing the serenity in my home. Granted, they don't disturb my serenity as much as
snakes or
fleas, but they disturb nonetheless.
So back in November, I was fairly certain that we had a family of mice living in our house. At night when the house was quiet, and even sometimes during the day, I would hear what sounded like mice. Fighting.
Do mice fight?
I don't know, but that's what it sounded like. I could hear their little squeaks in the walls, sometimes followed by little thuds, and it sounded like more than one mouse. Almost like Mr. Mouse was beating up on Mrs. Mouse or something.
Anyway, sure enough, one night I heard a noise that sounded like a mouse caught in the trap.
Here's where I'd like to insert a little side note, complete with a couple photos because really I have nothing better to do than take two pictures of a stupid mouse trap. But it's more effective to take this photo than to do a poor job of trying to explain how it works without any kind of a visual aid.
And saying "visual aid" totally just transported me back to high school. Oy.
Anyway, our mouse trap is one of those plastic things that teeters when the mouse goes into it, which causes the door to collapse and trap the mouse without killing it. Here are a couple photos, or shall I say,
visual aids:
Neato speedo. I prefer this method, NOT because I'm humane but because the idea of disposing of a dead mouse from one of the "snap" traps makes me want to pass the heck out. The blood, the broken neck.
Puke. So
my method is to put the trap in water and drown the little sucker.
See? Told you I wasn't humane.
And this is the end of that painfully long side note.
So I went to check on the trap, and as I approached it I spied a mouse scurrying away from the trap. I no doubt called the mouse a few choice names under my breath, thinking the little bugger had somehow outsmarted the trap. I bent down to reset the trap, and just as I was about to touch it, the trap squeaked and wiggled.
I, of course, squealed like a little girl, yet somehow managed to keep from peeing my pants.
I did Mouse1 in, disposed of his body, and put the trap back.
The next day the trap was still empty, but at one point I heard what sounded like a trapped mouse. Again, as I approached the trap I saw a mouse scurry away, but this time I was smarter. I stood there and stared at the trap. Nothing. So I nudged it, and the trap responded with a squeak and a wiggle. Mouse2 was trapped!
So I did Mouse2 in, disposed of the body, and put the trap back.
Later that night, I went to turn off the light above the kitchen sink, and as I was reaching over the empty sink, a mouse jumped straight up in the air. I shrieked and possibly even cried a little bit but since my life was flashing before my eyes, the details are a bit hazy.
After a few freakishly big leaps, the mouse was out of the sink. He ran to the left, and somehow I found enough courage to follow him off to the left. Thankfully he ran right under a little shelf I have, and on that shelf is where I keep all the knives. I grabbed the butcher knife and got ready.
This is the part where you start to laugh hysterically at me for wielding a butcher knife in a fight against a mouse. It's okay. Laugh away.
Anyway, I tried to scare the mouse out from his hiding spot to get him to run to the right because I knew if he ran to the left, he would escape down a crack between the counter and the stove. Finally after a lot of poking and throwing stuff in there and making noise, he ran off to the right. The little bugger was faster than I expected and when he reached the corner of the counter, I panicked and swatted at him with my weapon.
Let's just review that last sentence. I
swatted at a
mouse with a
butcher knife. I'm sure you can imagine what happened.
Mouse3 bled out in the corner of my countertop.
(Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd say.)
I dropped the knife in the sink like it was a hot potato and all I remember saying was, "Ooooh myyyyyy....ohhhh myyyyy!!" over and over again as I braced myself against the table, trying to keep myself from passing out. Blood doesn't bother me, but this blood did.
I woke up my accomplice - whose name will not be shared so as not to out him on my public blog (cough
chriscough) - and begged him to be my hero and dispose of my latest victim. He did. And in the meantime, I leaned against the counter and rubbed my face and eyes, trying to make the blurry tunnel vision stop.
I so wish I was kidding.
Anyway, in the days following Mouse3's demise, I caught Mouse4 and Mouse5, both of whom were baby mice. Mouse6 was the last mouse that I caught. Wanna hear the story on how I caught him?
Too bad, you're gonna hear it anyway.
Chris was working late, supper was in the oven, so I got started on the days' dishes. As usual, the kids had done a good job picking up their plates after their meals, and they (the plates. not the kids.) were all stacked next to the sink. About halfway down the pile I got to the breakfast plates which were all sticky and gooey from syrup. I grabbed haphazardly at the next plate and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement on the plate.
There was a baby mouse stuck in the syrup on the plate.
I screamed. Then I ran into the living room where the boys were and I sat on the couch. I don't remember much because - again - everything is blurry when one's life flashes before one's eyes, but I remember putting my face in my hands in an attempt to
not pass out.
Thankfully, I didn't pass out, and I eventually got up the courage to go take care of Mouse6. I stood at the sink and stared at the mouse-adorned plate for a good five minutes, trying to figure out how on earth I was going to do this.
I knew that I would likely pass out if I actually had to touch him and feel his body squirm as I removed him from the plate. So that wasn't an option. I considered throwing the plate away but I wasn't willing to take the chance that Mouse6 might escape and come back in the house.
Finally I just grabbed something and beat Mouse6 over the head a couple times until he stopped moving. I don't know if it killed him or if it knocked him out, but that's neither here nor there. Then I grabbed my trusty drowning bucket, grabbed the plate (holding it out as far in front of me as my arms could reach) and said "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" in a high-pitched squeal as I got the plate unstuck from the plate below it. I tossed the plate into the bucket, grabbed the sink sprayer, turned on the hot water, and sprayed the plate and mouse with hot water until the mouse came unstuck and the plate was clean.
I disposed of Mouse6's body,
thus ending the The Great Mouse Hunt 2009.
Unfortunately, The Great Mouse Hunt 2010 is currently underway. I'm pretty sure Mouse7 is around here somewhere.
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