A couple of weeks ago while ensconced on the couch, wife Beverly gave out a little squeal and announced a mouse had just scampered across the kitchen floor.
She may exaggerate from time to time, but not when it comes to mice. She has no love for the little rodents and could be the model for the cartoon that shows a woman standing on a chair while a smug-looking mouse glares up at her.
I immediately was dispatched to find mouse traps but could find none at a moment’s notice.
A local store had a variety of contrivances that were layered with glue and “bait in place.” Beverly turned her nose up with I returned with those in hand. She wanted the time-tested spring-loaded ones, the ones that have a torture element when triggered.
The next day she came home with four of the wood-and-wire traps.
I baited each with peanut butter, reasoning it would remain fresh and pliable over the course of a week.
A few days passed before Beverly, rising before I did, reported we had caught the mouse.
Meanwhile, I berated our cat for falling down on her duty. She’s quite good at catching birds, but apparently isn’t much of a mouser. As I pointed out her shortcomings, the cat gave me a sarcastic look as if to say, “If you’d let me stay indoors more, you wouldn’t have problems with mice.”
Only a few days later, I noticed movement in the kitchen.
There, meandering along the edge of our stove-top island, was a chubby little mouse — really kinda cute. When I went to reset the traps, the little guy was spying on me from around a corner — if my old BB gun wasn’t two rooms away, we might have finished this ordeal then.
I’ve done a fair amount of trapping in my life, and mice, for whatever reason, are much harder for me to catch than any furbearers that traipse the countryside.
But, I am patient, and confident I’ll add a second mouse hide soon to my tally — which hadn’t occurred as of Friday.
At Week’s End: The smaller they are, the harder to trap
