I have to get that mouse out of my house and out of my life!







When you live out in the country you have to get used to all sorts of critters and creepy cooties.  It's a price you pay, I suppose, for the peace and solitude that you gain.  I, however, do not deal well with any animal that comes into my home uninvited. They are like vampires and should stay the fuck out (unless the vampire is a sexy, tall Nordic Viking and then I say enchant√©.  Spiders (shudder), ticks, silverfish, snakes (triple dog dare shudder) and zombie guinea pigs.  You name it; all are gross and nasty and deserve nothing less than extreme torture when caught.  

Mice, however, are kind of cute.  Not cute enough for me to pick up and cuddle, but still cute to look at in a controlled environment.  A controlled environment where there is no risk that the mouse can go rogue and use my leg as a highway and my face as its destination.  You can imagine my dismay a couple years ago when a field mouse had invaded my previous home. 

At first you don't realize you have a mouse.  They are stealthy like that.  But soon you start to find little turd pellets in places you do not like to have turds hang out.  The kitchen. Once one single turd pellet is spotted it is immediately a HAZMAT situation and everything else happening in the world has ceased to exist.  My sweet and innocent little aunt could call and say she was lost in the forest with a rabid bear stalking her and I STILL could not pull myself away from the catastrophe happening in my kitchen drawers and cabinets.  It is highly annoying because I hate to wash dishes and everything has to be washed.  Not only washed, but sanitized.

Once the kitchen was under control, I had to set about getting that bastard of a mouse.  I set out a few of those snap traps and I would check them constantly.  I became obsessed and I tried all different kinds of bait.  That devil mouse would eat the bait and the snap would never deal the death blow!  I even contemplated putting a pair of my panties (or lady drawers as I like to call them) in the trap as bait.  My dog loves to eat my lady drawers so why not a mouse?  Do you see my logic?  I didn't end up offering up my underwear bait but I was tempted. Eventually I had to come to terms that the snap traps were not going to catch this Em-Effer.  My mantra became "I have to get that mouse out of my house and out of my life!"

Here is where I started to feel guilty; I had to resort to glue traps.  I know, I know, they are horrible, but I had to get this mouse out of my house and out of my life once and for all!  I bought the glue traps and at least had the decency to look at the cashier with a look that said I knew I was evil and deserved no less than her contempt - I had to get that mouse out of my house and out of my life!  When I arrived home, I immediately set out the glue traps in my kitchen.  By now I knew the walking path of the mouse so I placed a couple at each end of my cabinets along the baseboards and one under the island for good measure.  My husband, who so far up to now in my mouse problem had been zero help, decided to taunt me for my inability to annihilate the mouse like a competent person. Little did he know I made a mental note to discreetly disappear next time the dog shit all over the carpet.  He would have to handle it and THAT would show him to taunt me (I have hundreds of these little mental notes of husband revenge).   Verbally, I yelled this to him:  "I DON'T CARE I HAVE TO GET THAT MOUSE OUT OF MY HOUSE AND OUT OF MY LIFE!!"

The traps were laid out and now all I could do was wait.  I took a bath in the candlelight to de-stress and try to forget about the glue trap guilt.  The thing about life, though, is there is a certain type of karma; taking the easy way out will always, and I mean always, bite you in the ass in the end.  That is foreshadowing folks so be prepared.  Go get some popcorn and sit back and await the doom.

Later that night I was in bed sleeping and dreaming of my mouse free house. Little dream snippets of me skipping around the house with a big smile while baking apple pies and drinking hot cider.  (In my dreams I am a delusional Suzy Homemaker - don't judge me.) Suddenly I awaken to a noise, and not the normal night time noise of my husband and his hobo train snoring.  The noise I heard was from the kitchen.  I bolted out of bed ready to greet the night with jubilee at catching that goddamned mouse once and for all preparing to proclaim "VICTORY IS MINE!".  I walked into the kitchen and see my dog over by the glue traps; except one was now missing.  Where the hell did it go?  Did he eat the trap? Did the mouse get on the trap with one foot and realize his predicament?  Did he then limp with one free leg and drag his glue trapped leg behind him out the back door?  Did his mouse family, who lived in the back field, see him coming and set up a mouse emergency triage?  



My imagination took me to a cartoon image of a mouse and his family that included a little brother mouse who proclaimed with tiny mouse fist in the air,  "THAT BITCH WILL RUE THE DAY SHE DID THIS TO MY BROTHER!  I WILL CHEW THROUGH ALL HER PANTIES JUST YOU WAIT!".

Seriously though, the trap was nowhere to be found.  I looked everywhere, even locations in the kitchen that the trap couldn't possibly be: in the upper cabinets, in the cookie jar, even in the freaking refrigerator!  Meanwhile, my dog is acting weird - you'd think that would have been my first clue, but no, my mind tends to ignore blatant clues.   Do you know where I am going with this story?  Are you good at figuring out endings? Shhh...don't spoil it.

I return to my comfy bed and yell for the dog to come with me (I make sure all my panties are in the hamper before I allow him into my room).  I am laying there but I can't get that missing trap out of my mind; it is driving me crazy!  My husband was sleeping beside me with not a care in the world - probably dreaming of football and big bosomed blonde bimbos.  That's his way.  Next thing I know I hear the dog beside my bed scratching the hell out of himself.  Now gnawing at his private areas is nothing out of the ordinary for him, but scratching?  He normally doesn't do that for more than a minute, but he was going to town I tell you.  Finally, I decide to figure out what is up; I get out of bed and turn on the bathroom light instead of the bedroom light.  Although I should have made husband as miserable as I was, I didn't.  I tell the dog to come over to me but he refuses - my dog doesn't normally refuse to come to me when told.  He has a guilty look on his face like he gets when he has tipped over the trash can or chewed up my LD's; so I know he has done something he wasn't supposed to, but I am not sure what.  I walk over to him and he lays down pretty much giving up and ready to accept his punishment of "bad dog, bad dog".  Out of the corner of my eye I notice his tail.  There is something stuck to his tail! Yes, it is the missing glue trap.  AHA, mystery solved and I am so relieved!  I can sleep calmly now without that mystery hanging over me.  

So now I know: my dog was curious about the trap and in the process of inspecting the glue trap, the trap got ensnared in his log furry tail.  The process of removing the trap was now in my hands.  No big deal; I just pick up his tail, grab the trap and pull.  Easy right? Well...........

It would be easy..... if that DAMN DEAD MOUSE WASN'T ALSO ATTACHED TO THAT GLUE TRAP!!!! OOOOOOOOHHHHH MMMMMYYYY GGGGGGOOOOODDDD!!!

I screamed like a banshee in the British Isles after a multi car pileup.

My husband jumped out of bed like he had been shot out of a cannon.  By that time I was huddled in a corner of my bedroom (like a pair of my chewed up LD's).  My husband stalked over to me and I point to the dog and his tail and the missing glue trap and the dead mouse.  He walked over to the dog, pulled off the "#3 worst moment of my life" (you don't want to know the first 2), and strutted past me rolling his eyes.  Like it was no big deal and I was clearly overreacting. My husband then leaves the room to dispose of the carnage.  Husband returned to bed and said it was taken care of and for me to go to sleep and a minute later he is back to snoring the hobo train blues.  Can you believe that? !  I had just spent at least an hour of my life in a flurry of emotions and he was probably sleepwalking the whole time.  If one can sleepwalk and perform tasks.  If people can sleepwalk and overeat I can choose to believe one can sleepwalk and perform exterminator duties.  At any rate I was SO worn out (like a pair of my chewed up LD's).  Crawling back into bed I attempted to go to sleep but now I had another nagging thought on my mind.  I turn over and I shake my husband from his slumber and ask him, "hey did you wash your hands?".  Sleepwalking husbands can perform mouse disposal but washing their hands afterwards would be out of the question.  They are grown boys after all.

In conclusion of this long story (thanks for sticking with me), I have learned that glue traps are not the best route of mouse catching.  My dog hasn't learned to stop chewing up my LD's.  And my husband has learned that he better wash his hands when I feel he needs to or I won't allow him to go to sleep.  Ever.

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