there's a mouse in our house

Friday, January 28, 2011

We have a mouse problem. We have a mice problem, to be more exact.  We've caught three in the past two months, and I know there are more because I can hear them scurrying around in my walls. I hate mice. More than anything.  OK, not more than anything, but more than a lot of things. More accurately, I hate alive mice. If we kill a mouse in a regular trap, I think it's gross, but I don't have trouble scooping it up with a long handled shovel and putting it in the trash can.

We've put out regular mouse traps. We've tried two fancy kinds of mousetraps, 'guaranteed to kill'. Snort. Yeah right. The mice are eating the bait off the traps without actually triggering the traps. Tiny, tiny mice. In desperation, we've put out d-con. Not my favorite thing because then I don't know where the mice are going to die, but we're desperate. Finally, after a couple of recommendations, we bought the glue traps. I'm definitely not a fan of these since I figured that the mouse would still be alive when we found them. But once again...desperation. We stick one in the kitchen. WAY back under a shelf in the corner. It was literally difficult for us to get it so far back in.

This morning, I hear screaming from Baby R from the kitchen. Now, she's a shrieker, much to my dismay, so this is itself wasn't unusual. This instance, though, had this note of terror to it that was not typical for her. So I went racing in there to find her with the glue trap on her hand. There's also a Lego stuck to the glue trap, so I'm chuckling to myself. Silly baby, got that Lego stuck to the glue trap and now can't get her hand off. So I go down to remove the trap from her hand, and THERE IS A MOUSE ON IT!!!  

Now, not only Baby R is screaming, but also her mama. The other two are racing in, and I'm shrieking, and they're about to cry because they've never heard noises like that come from me before. Baby R is still screaming and sobbing, and I pull the trap off and fling it on the floor where the mouse is struggling to get free. I wipe off her hands, inspect carefully for bite marks or broken skin of any kind, and then call the husband. Because that's what strong, feminist-minded, capable women do when there is a live mouse stuck to their baby's hand. They call their husbands. Whatever.

I feel incapable of managing any part of my life right now, so W asks to talk to Maggie. Who is perfectly willing to remove any kind of pest, be it bug or mouse, from our home. She gets her gloves on to pick up the trap and take it out to the dumpster. This proves difficult since winter gloves are hard to maneuver.  So she just does it with her bare hands. My daughter is more of a woman than I.  I'm not ashamed. Just grateful she was here to do the job. Otherwise, I probably would've just shut the kitchen door and we would have spent the next two days crouched in terror in the living room.

I have so many unanswered questions. Did Baby R touch the mouse? Did she get bit by the mouse? How on earth did she get the trap? When I found her, she was in the middle of the kitchen. Not even close to where the trap was located. Did the mouse scoot the trap out from underneath the shelf? Why? Why? Why?

Baby R is still shaken. She is crying and screaming for no good reason. She seems a little frightened to enter the kitchen. Mr. B is shaken. He'll probably have nightmares tonight as he has been scared of mice for quite awhile now. Plus, the shrieks of your normally fairly composed Mama has to be a little terrifying. I am still shaken. My tummy feels a little strange. My hands a little quivery. I need a nap. Or maybe a stiff drink, but I don't think day-drinking will prove to be the answer to my neuroses, and I'm not sure straight cranberry juice qualifies anyway.

You know who's fine though? My Maggie. She's still talking about how the mouse was moving when she threw it in the trash can. She actually patted me on the arm when she was through. Good thing I have her. Someday I hope to be as strong a woman as my daughter.

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