“Good man, Mammy!” Praise indeed from Screecher Creature No. 1 when the trap and not me, caught the pesky mouse that had been eluding us for two weeks. Two weeks it took to nab him. Two whole weeks. But nab him I did.
Now I have another dilemma. We have a new lodger. Or very possibly a few of them. I mean, there’s rarely one mouse, right?
This one, or at least one of them, has a fondness for the fruit bowl. Pears in particular. His appetite is bigger than our 6 year olds!!
And I can’t catch him/them. With their sophisticated palates in mind, I’ve dotted sweet and savoury baited traps about the place in an effort to wipe them out. Not working so far.
Many an evening I sit here and a little whiskered, twitching nose will appear at my right side. Even the tapping of the keyboard doesn’t deter him. He’ll have a little cautious sniff, and tiny bit by tiny bit he makes his little way out. One night he practically played with my feet.
The cheeky bugger runs around my floor, darting in under the couch, over the legs of the baby chair and along the fire place before scooting into the kitchen. Probably heading for the fruit bowl.
See, we don’t have a Tom so these furry Jerry’s seem to move into our place in their droves. They have a tendency to drag those little Styrofoam balls out from the wall cavity. It’s annoying because they are immune to the sweeping brush and the two and a half year old likes to push them up his nose. These mouses have got to go!!
A couple of days ago I set a trap at the end of the couch and I watched as one of them literally diced with death. He would approach the trap, and at the last minute scurry away from it. A tiny confession here. I wanted him dead but I didn’t want to witness it so I clapped my hands whenever he got too close to those jaws of death and he lived to experience life for another hour or so. Or at least until I retired to bed. The next morning, there was a little stiff and lifeless brown body sandwiched in the trap. I almost felt sorry for him. And then I threw him into the bin. On top of all the nappies our youngest two like to fill.
But this latest mouse, or mice, has me baffled. He’s almost a pet at this stage. The lads are not the quietest musical instruments in the band, but they don’t seem to bother Fivel. Maybe he enjoys the company.
So I’ve arrived at a solution. I’m going to have to take a shot at him myself. I’m currently going through my options. I could use a shoe or a book. My new weights are pretty hefty and would make it very quick altogether but I’m not loving the very possible and likely occurrence of blood splatters. And then Mickey could be a Minnie. With little baby mouses somewhere. Ah, here. I never thought of that. Maybe I’ll let the matter rest for a night or two. After all, you can’t be too hasty about these things. But now I have another dilemma. It’s been a while since Stuart Little came out to play. The Styrofoam balls are still there each and every morning, but no sign of Stuart. But, and it’s a big But. A big smelly But. I am getting a distinct and nasty whiff of something in my kitchen. The washing machine has been hot cycled on empty. Still squiffy. The fridge has been cleaned out. Still dodgy. All my presses have been Miltoned into oblivion. Still nasty. I strongly suspect that there might be a lifeless little brown body decomposing down the back of the presses. Where I can’t get in! Mister Husband thought I was losing the bit I had left until he admitted to “getting it” yesterday. Now he reckons that Pinky’s heart gave in as a result of all the chocolate baited traps I left lying about and he was only seeking revenge by dying behind the press. And you know what? I’m glad! Glad he’s dead, even if he chose to do it in an inaccessible area. I just found a bag of Cadbury’s Mini Treats in my Secret Christmas Stash that have been well and truly tucked into. I reckon though it’s the Town Mouse that’s rotting away in my kitchen. Because a Country Mouse would have much more sense than to Die By Chocolate!!