Back in my wild, carefree days – before the man who is now my husband moved in – I made a naive gesture and began putting ears of dried corn in one of my kitchen drawers. I had seen mouse poo in there, and I decided to help out the little fellow. I did not know that I would be attracting more mice (although the fact that those ears of corn disappeared so quickly should have clued me in), and after a few months, and many humane mouse traps later, I stopped counting at 77 mice. Lesson learned, more or less.
You can imagine the hubs’s horror when he moved in and discovered that he was sharing Critter Cottage with more than just myself and four cats. He made it crystal clear that either the mice were leaving, or he was. Reluctantly – because I didn’t want any of the mice getting hurt – I agreed to allow a professional pest remover to come and help us. But no mouse traps! I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing them go snap, and knowing that another life had been cut short in such a grisly manner. Happily, we found a fellow who does things in a slightly more humane fashion. And no, the cats were no help at all: they had better things to do, like naps, and, well, more naps.
Whatever the mouse hunter did proved effective until the mice decided to take up residence again four years later. Again we called the mouse man, and again, he came out and worked his mouse-removal magic. The house stayed mouse-free until last month.
I was lying on the sofa recently when I noticed big shaggy mutt Munster staring raptly at something just outside the sliding glass door. Ordinarily, it’s the squirrels that captivate him, but there weren’t any out there. When his head starting doing that watching-at-Wimbledon thing, I got up and stood beside him. Sure enough, a few seconds later, a mouse came running out from under the house. He cleared the patio step in two leaps and threw himself into the bowl of duck food. Grabbing as much feed as he could, he flung himself back across the step, ran through the flower bed, and disappeared under the house. As I watched the mouse do this same thing over and over, I asked myself whether the hubs really needed to know about it. My answer was no.
Everything was fine until a few days later, when the hubs recounted to me the same story I’ve just told you. I listened, then waited to hear what he had to say about it. Curiously, it wasn’t much, just a vague comment that we should probably get the mouse guy back. I said nothing in reply, and that’s where things were left, until last Thursday.
I’d been feeling poorly for about a month. Indeed, I spent a couple of days in hospital. I was still feeling less than my usual fabulousness, lying on the couch in my pyjamas and watching telly, all the while hoping that the hubs would take care of my animal chores without me having ask, when I noticed that Munster was back at Wimbledon. You’d be surprised what a pick-me-up watching a mouse run about actually is! So I went over to the door and joined the dog. Only it wasn’t a mouse that came out from under the house. It was a large rat.
My first thought was, Wow! That mouse got big!
My second thought was, Oh, this is not good! This time, I would have to tell the hubs what I’d witnessed.
I called out – it’s a small cottage – “Umm….honey? We have a development here that I think you should see.” He came into the living room and I walked him over to the door. “Just wait for it,” I said. The hubs was as surprised as I was to find that the small, cute-and-mostly-harmless mouse had turned into a large, this-is-very-uncool rat. I went off in search of the mouse hunter’s mobile number before the hubs said a word, knowing that the mouse guy would now be, 1. the mouse and rat guy, and, 2. on his way to our house soon.
After some discussion as to the differences between mice and rats, the mouse man went to work and set us up with “bait stations” which would ultimately rob some innocent rodents of their lives. I was disheartened, but I actually do prefer the hubs’s company to that of the aforementioned rodents, so I said nothing. Merry Freakin’ Christmas, you poor little buggers! I thought.
And that’s where we’re at as of now. Slowly, over time, Munster’s Wimbledon impression will fade as the mouse and rat activity fade, and the hubs’s diligence in keeping watch for more rodents will fade, as well. When it does, if you see any mice about the place, just keep it to yourself, would you?
Happy Christmas to you all! I’ll see you next year!
