Saturday, January 17, 2009

The Best Laid Plans . . . Part IV

(For previous installments, click The Best Laid Plans, The Best Laid Plans . . . Part II, and The Best Laid Plans . . . Part III)

"What?! Whaddoya mean the big mouse got away?" The Calm One was as surprised as I was when I spun the lazy susan to find Mama mouse had gotten away.

It looked as though we were going to have to try something else. These "humane" glue traps were not working. And can I just ask, who cares about humane mouse traps. Really?!

My husband yanked the deluxe Mice B Gone box down from the top of the fridge and glared into it looking for a better solution. That reminds me, he HAS to find a better place for that box! Because nothing says, "Come, let us break bread together" than staring at a box o' mice traps while you're eating your mice mac and cheese. Just sayin'.

There were two black, plastic snap traps and a triangular mouse hotel that held bait. Claims on the box lauded the effectiveness of the catnip like substance when put in a strategic location.

We ended up with a big fat zero on the mice count with those.

I was getting tired of scrubbing counters. And floors.

And then came the evening when one of them was brazen enough to show his black beady eyes while I was in the room. Well, technically, I was in the dining room and he was in the kitchen, but we have an open floor plan, so our living, dining and kitchen are really all one big room.

I heard a faint rustling noise and cautiously turned from the computer. There was the tiny booger in the middle of the floor. Whisking those whiskers back and forth, daring me to make my move. There was a squeak loud enough to startle both of us. So move I did.

I flew to the top of a stool one of the kids had dragged from the bathroom earlier that evening . The mouse also made his move. Right down the hall. As in toward the bedrooms.

Where my angelic children sleep unaware.

There was more squeaking, but this time I would almost swear in a court of law that it was the mouse. Then I lost sight of him. My heart dropped. I scoured their bedrooms, but found nary a furry creature.

I heard him later that night, right after I'd gotten comfy - all tucked in bed with the remote and a couple of pilfered bite sized snickers bars. It sounded if he'd made his way to my husband's closet. And though I was not happy about his presence in my room, this was a small relief for two reasons:

A. He wasn't it the kids' rooms.


2. If he was in The Calm One's closet, he may never make it out alive. The one time I ventured to put his clothes away, I almost didn't make it out alive.

I did the only thing I knew to do: I closed the closet doors. Which, incidentally must've been a sight in and of itself. It's not easy for a 5 ' 0'' gal to stand on top of her bed, tippy-toed, and reach for the sliding mirrored doors that are a good three feet and a half feet away. The logistics are just a tad tricky is all I am saying.

And the mirrored doors on both of the closets, are going, just as soon as it's financially feesable. That many large mirrors in a bedroom . . . makes for some interesting furniture arrangements that you probably won't see it Elle Decore, if you catch my drift.

But I digress . . . Where was I? Oh, yes, tippy-toed on the bed . . .

The next night the rug-rat made his presence known by leaving two little gifts. Atop my nightstand.

Next to the very place I put my head Every. Single. Night.

It was, indeed, the proverbial last straw.

Pinched fingers be darned, it was time to use the wooden springy traps. And it was time to pull out the peanut butter. We were taking no prisoners.

We meant business.

To be continued . . .


  1. Peanutbutter with a wie bit of cheese gets them everytime. We caught over thirty mice one winter but thats a story for another time.

  2. I love your story! I'll be back for more. I just can't get the image of you on tippy toes outta my head!

  3. That was an act of war! May the mouse be squished dead - quickly. :)


Dear Readers of note have said . . .