I am very sad and disturbed by what I found yesterday. A mouse turd on my counter. The same counter on which I make food on and dry out my son’s bottles on. I picked it up with bare fingers not even thinking it really was that. But, could it be? I had my suspicions, but then threw it in the sink trying to make myself also believe that it was some sort of charbroiled mess from last night’s pork chops. My mind kept coming back to what I had seen. (Sidenote: I did wash my hands as soon as I threw it in the sink.) It hadn’t gone down the drain so I grabbed a napkin and pinched it in the middle. To my absolute horror, I found that it was most definitely not from last night’s meal.

We currently have 6 traps in our kitchen. I would really like to get this mouse before I see him scurrying through my house. I am also contemplating getting an outside cat.

Here’s where my paranoia comes from. Okay, so what if he comes out of hiding, thinking he is alone. I walk into the kitchen,  he freaks, and runs across the top of my feet. I would, oh my goodness, I don’t even know, try to jump into Jaxon’s arms.

Then, there’s the other scenario where I am sleeping at night and the mouse runs over my face or up my pant leg and is then trapped in my clothing. Horror of all horrors!

Let me just tell you that this past spring, we had a bit of mouse issue. It had rained for days, and the fields were very flooded. Marty and I were in bed, maybe it was on a Sunday afternoon, watching a movie. Suddenly, he became all hunterish. He saw the mouse run past our door. That was just the beginning of all of the chaos that we endured for about a week. Droppings started showing up and in the end, we caught about 2-3 in our house and 13 in our garage. We were even catching 2 in one trap. I mean, who knows, it could have been a mouse couple on a date going to the local peanut butter buffet and WHAM! That’s it.

At this point, I started tucking my pants into my socks and my shirt into my pants when I went to bed at night. I wanted to minimize the avenues that a mouse could travel. I kept this a secret from Marty for awhile, because I thought he would think I am psycho. And, yeah, he so did. Also, if I woke up in the night, I would start kicking my legs around a lot so, just in case it was in my bed, it would get out. I would lay awake thinking I was hearing squeaking. We would search our room and bang a golf club around to make sure there wasn’t one in there, and then we would close our door and put a towel under it. See how crazy I am?

And, of course, when I was on bed rest I saw one almost run into my room. I jumped up, and seriously probably almost sent myself into full fledged labor. I closed my door and put the towel in front of it. I took a golf club out into the kitchen with me when I made my lunch that day and then ran right back into my room. I didn’t come out of that room until my protector, Marty, came home.

Every mouse after that was examined by me to see if we had caught “the mouse” that almost attacked me. “Nope,” I would say, “his teeth are too big. Ummm, his tail is  a 1/4″ longer than I remembered. He’s a little stockier and big boned. Are those breast implants?”

Finally, Marty spent a good half an hour, locked in our laundry room after we saw one run under the door. There was a lot of crashing and banging going on, but eventually, it was defeated by a Swiffer.

Now, if this makes you sad, and you think we are cruel and violent, then you have issues. It’s a dirty little creature that is invading my personal space and creating an unclean environment for my family. I don’t care if his name is Ratatouille or Despereaux. I didn’t send him an invite, so get the heck out of here, or we’ll do it for you.

Related posts

• No related posts.