According to the movies I watched as a child, mice usually do one of three things:
- Sing songs about love, or the fact that there are no cats in America.
- Help with chores around the house and sew dresses for cinder-girls (frequently accompanied by whistling while they work).
- Give elephants with unusually large ears and derogatory nicknames flying lessons.
I have been lied to.
In real life, mice sleep in your spoon drawer, nibble at your food, and occupy your kitchen sink’s cupboard—without paying rent.
Our illegal tenant was discovered when I needed a spoon for breakfast. Upon opening the drawer, I saw a tail and two feet comfortably nestled in the spoon. My first reaction (and our tenant’s first reaction, as well) was to jump back. My second reaction was to nicely tell my wife we had company.
“Honey?” I called.
“There’s something in the spoon drawer.”
“Umm… Bigger than a cockroach.”
Since our tenant had clearly not prepaid his first month’s rent or allowed us to perform a background check, my wife and I felt it necessary to place an eviction notice in plain sight on the front of the cupboard. The expenses incurred due to his presence were clearly listed, including the loss of food and the time spent sanitizing our kitchen. The mousetraps given us by family were not included.
Unfortunately, Stuart (not his real name) was either unobservant or illiterate. He spent that night licking the bait off of the mousetrap we’d prepared and playing loud music.
The next morning, we discovered Stuart’s obvious love of peanut butter. We also realized that we had a light-footed (or is it light-pawed?) mouse on our hands. Our next trap was more carefully set, in the hopes that even the touch of a whisker would release the spring.
All we succeeded in accomplishing was feeding Stuart. That mouse’s skills were good. Enter phase two of operation “Get the Mouse Dead.”
The classic mousetrap not working, we tried a more old-fashioned approach. This involved a large container with bait dangling overhead oversnout.
I guess no one caught mice in the olden days, either.
Finally, we decided it was time to look for a modern mousetrap. Thank you, Home Depot!
The Ortho Home Defense Max Press ‘N Set looked promising, so we bought a two-pack and placed them under the sink.
Stuart has since been forcibly evicted.
Note: The following picture may be offensive to Disney fans, Alvin and the Chipmunks fans, and/or vegetarian felines. Due caution is suggested.
Edit: Mice have no manners, not even at the office.