Of Mice and Men

I had a disquieting run-in with a rodent.

I was making coffee in the kitchen, and the parts were not seating well. So I shook them a bit. A bit too much. Some of the coffee beans jumped into the water reservoir. Went to the kitchen sink to pour it all out, and a mouse jumped up and ran across the counter and disappeared into the dishwasher. I screamed. Loudly.

My husband, who was in bed at the time, remained in bed. I guess he didn't think my screaming was unusual. I didn't think I normally made that much noise in the morning. When he finally got up, I told him my about my harrowing event. He asked if I had checked in the dishwasher for the mouse.

A note of importance here: My husband HATES rodents. Hates them and fears them.

I looked at him in surprise. Check the dishwasher? Are you nuts? He might jump out at me and bite me with rodent diseased teeth. That's a man's job.

My husband didn't think that should be his job at all. So, being the loving couple that we are (note seque into romantic story line), we both peaked into the dishwasher. Nothing. The mouse (or perhaps it was a rat the size of a small dog…my memory is fuzzy on this point) has disappeared and is probably laying in wait for us to doze off or something. My husband started the dishwasher. I guess his plan was to drown the creature in Cascade. I don't know.

The next day I got a text message on my cell phone. Here's how it read:
Hi, this is the mousie in your kitchen. Where's the coffee?
It was from my son. My children are very funny.

Now the mouse is back. How do I know? He stared at me from atop my kitchen counter. Eeeeek! I shrieked, which brought my husband, Sid, scurrying…or make that running…into the kitchen. Somehow he knew. Knew with the certainty of a mouse-coward that the gray, yellow-tooth scoundral was back. The mouse ran in back of the microwave and stared out at me. His black bead-eyes boring into my face with anger. Sid suggested we slam the appliance against the wall. Hard. Mouse guts on my kitchen appliance? Not in this lifetime. The mouse then jumped off and went somewhere under the countertop. Mouse feet have now been everywhere over my clean kitchen.

I purchased a mouse trap and set it under the sink. Let me re-describe it. It was probably more of a rat trap…pretty big. Sid said it wouldn't work on a small mouse. Well, the creature looked pretty big to me when he attacked the coffee pot. Anyway, I put it under the sink with some peanut butter in it. I checked it later and noticed that the trap was still set, so I took it out to look. The peanut butter was gone. Who could have eaten that? I put more peanut butter in the trap and set it on the kitchen sink. Heh heh heh. Eat that and die you gray-furred creature of the night.

I waited for the ominous sound of the plastic prison snapping down on the victim.
And waited. Went to bed and waited.

Got up in the morning and checked the trap. Aw phooey. It was still set. But HEY!!! The peanut butter was gone again.

Something small is going to die before the sun sets today.

I bought mouse traps. Many of them. All correctly sized. Put them everywhere. Went to bed. No sound of snapping yet. Drat. Maybe he and his family moved to better digs. Dream on foolish woman…what's better than free peanut butter?

Got up in the morning. Trap on the counter is still set. Went out to do laundry. Sid came in the kitchen, then yelled.

He had heard the trap snap under the sink.

"Did it get him?" I asked.

"You look," he said whimpily. "That's not my job."

I looked at him peevishly. He looked back petulantly and said, "You're the one with the 'killer gloves'." Oh right. Killer gloves from my gopher trap setting days. My reputation lingers on.
Okay. I crack open the door to check. You can't be too careful with mice. They have friends.
Squished. Gone to heaven. He ain't no more. He met his demise.

I got the doggy scooper and scooped up the whole contraption out from under the sink. No way am I going to touch that with gloves. This takes some distance scooping.

Sid mentioned that for two people who freaked about mice, it sure was funny that we thought we could live in the country in our retirement.

Yeah. Funny.