Of Mice and Men

I hate to confess this. But here it is. Like an estimated 95% of U.S. households, we have pests. Not the kids, we LIKE the kids.
I mean smaller pests. With fur. And a passion for cheese. Or so I’m told- ours prefer the dog and cat food. In fact, ours have developed a favorite pastime… the little daredevils. They scurry up to the cat food, it’s a divided rectangular dish. Our cat drops food in his water which is gross, so we only fill one side and make him share the dogs water. The mice sit in the empty side after they eat their fill and………. Defecate. Any normal cat worth its weight in hairballs would shrivel up and DIE of the humiliation. My old fat cat is supremely unaffected.
Evidence of small furry things not housed in cages gives me the willies. One year we were infested. There was mouse poo in my OVEN, right in my PANS. Can you imagine? I didn’t sleep for days. Turned out that drama and trauma was a HOAX. Oh yeah. My husband and some dropping-shaped thistle for the bird feeder had themselves a gigglefest. Thanks Chris. However, this year the joke’s on him. The mice got wind of his pranks and decided to see what he’d do with a REAL mouse dropping.
It turns out he is about as impressed as the cat. “hmm. Mice.”
I am pregnant. I pee a lot. I have to get out of bed to do this. AT NIGHT. When mice scurry. And it is dark. Every baby sock in my path? A toe biting mouse for sure. So I sleep with a flashlight. Still creeped out. Every sound? Baby-gnawing rodent teeth on their way to chew on my offspring.
After much whining Chris launched his great mouse-evicting plan: put away the pet food at night.
The result? A gnawed oatmeal box. Nice. Now they’re after MY food. I suggested leaving the cat food out. Its cheap and that freeloading hairball factory DESERVES the insult. He calls himself a CAT. Sheesh.
But no. Chris has another idea. We heard a sound one night. It woke Chris up (he was on the couch). The dog and cat were unperturbed. He ran to look and SAW the mouse run to its hole. So we have the hole. Common sense tells me to seal the hole and call it a day.
My husband and I have different brands of “common sense”. HIS common sense said “go spend $20 on traps and bait but DO NOT buy any sealant”. So that’s what he did. He baited them under the house. He laid traps in the laundry room/pet food room/pantry/ multi-purpose space where the mice merrily play.
We caught mouse number one in less than hour. During the DAY. Oh the screaming horror of this life. Mice that crap in cat bowls by day are one scary menace if you ask me! Chris says I am a bit dramatic and perhaps my pregnant hormones are getting the better of me. The heartless oaf.
Mouse number 2 came a few short hours later. Chris said “they come in 3’s. We’ll have the last one by morning” I have no clue from whence this wisdom comes, but it’s not in any google search *I’ve* ever conducted.
It was another 36 hours before we caught “the last one” and it was AFTER we caught that one that the ramen noodles became scurry-snacks.
“seal the hole, Chris, PLEASE” I begged. “oh NO I can’t do that, I’m still trapping them” he says. His primal urge to hunt reduced to baiting traps. His childish glee at their gory demise. "Oh PLEASE seal the hole. Seal them out and trap/bait to your hearts content under the house. But keep these beasts OUT of my home!"
But no. That’s not a satisfactory answer in his world. He must trap them until the trap stops springing. THEN he can seal the hole.
So I suggested a semicircle of traps around the entrance. The only way in to my house is over the traps. Its perfect. He scoffs “oh PLEASE! They’re not STUPID! They won’t come IN then!”
Well, yes.. isn’t that the point? To evict them? To give them a choice? Stay out or die? Aren’t we trying to FREE ourselves from their tyranny? Apparently not. Apparently that’s MY silly goal. The real plan is to lure them IN where can Chris can slaughter them. Lovely.
*I* can’t seal the hole, 2 feet away from it is a corpse. My brave son checks the trap for me, because if its occupied mama can’t do the laundry. Today I can’t do the laundry. Chris says this is utterly ridiculous.
I think I’m moving out.