Mouse in the House

I like my mice as fictional characters: 

Mickey Mouse

Minnie Mouse

Jerry from Tom & Jerry

Speedy Gonzales

Mighty Mouse

Stuart Little

Chuck E. Cheese

Fievel

Pinky and the Brain

 

These are mice I can handle.  They are not real.  They don’t exist.  They are in cartoons and movies—I can turn them off.  They are in books which I can choose not to read.  They are not a hassle.  They are not pests.  They are make-believe.  They are non-existent.

 

Unfortunately, there are real mice in the world, and they have come to harass my family.  A couple of weeks ago my daughter told the tale of a couple of mice who came to visit her house.  She said she could hear them in the walls scratching away.  Drove her and her family crazy.  She said it made her skin crawl and feel icky.  I wouldn’t argue.  Mice can make you feel icky.  They had mice.

 

A little over a week ago the wife and I could hear the tell-tale scratching in the ceiling—mice in the attic!  Though still icky, the wife and I are used to having mice in the attic.  It happens several times a year at our homestead.  Usually, the fall and spring.  In the fall mice move into houses in their version of heading south for the winter.  Can’t blame them as winter is brutal in Montana.  In the spring it is more like bears waking from hibernation.  They wake up hungry and see houses as the ultimate buffets.  So we are used to the bi-annual visitation of mice in our house.  Still, it is icky and makes the skin crawl.  Plus, it just pisses me off!

 

I will admit that mice are cute.  Those tiny bodies, whiskers, and big round eyes.  It is no wonder there are so many cartoonish and fictional mouse characters.  They are cute.  The reality is that they are considered harmful pests.  They pose serious health risks by carrying diseases like Salmonella and Hantavirus that they transmit through droppings, urine, and hair.  Plus, they cause property damage from chewing . . . chewing on wires, drywall, wood, insulation for nesting materials.  They bred quickly with a single female producing between five to ten litters of five to six young a year.  This causes infestations and then there’s gobs of those cute little critters everywhere.  Yuck!

 

Thus, the family has been dealing with a mouse—or should I say, mice—in the house.  All out war has been declared.  The battles have begun.  For my daughter this was a new experience and luckily her spouse stepped up to save the day . . . I mean house.  Being a different generation, he used newer versions of mouse traps and sticky pads.  In the end they succeeded in capturing and killing two mice. The noise inside the walls disappeared.  It has been several weeks since they have heard anything or seen any activity around the traps.  They were victorious in battle and won the war.

 

Though I use sticky pads, I’m older fashioned and still use the wooden wire-hinged traps.  The trap uses peanut butter on the level that springs the wire trap smashing the mouse to the wooden base.  Gruesome but effective.  Unlike the glue or sticky pads this trap kills the mouse.  With the pads the dirty deed of killing the mouse still needs to be done.  In my war against the mice, I have caught three in a week—one by trap, two by pads.  Have I won the war yet?  Only time will tell.  In the meantime, the garage is booby-trapped.  There has been no cease fire declared.

 

I realize how crude and cruel these methods of mouse warfare sound.  I also realize how anti “bless the beasts and the children”—you know, respect and protect the critters—these forms of entrapment are.  When others have a mouse in their house I am all for pulling a Saint Francis of Assisi. It’s not my house . . . not my problem . . . not my mouse.  When the mouse is in my house, well damn the torpedoes!  It is all out war short of a nuclear bomb.  War is hell and the mice are going to pay the price.

 

Besides, if I play the “nice” guy and capture the mouse in a harmless trap to be set free . . . it won’t be like in the movies.  No, the mouse won’t skedaddle off to find Ma and Pa to live happily ever after.  No, the mouse will go and tell all its family and friends with the goal of bringing the whole gang over.  The mouse will tell them of this “sucker” of a guy who gives out “get out of jail” cards to the mice he captures.  I can’t have that.  I can’t let that happen.  I must be tough and set an example.  I have thought about leaving the sprung traps with the dead mice out as a warning to other mice.  Symbolism is wasted on mice.  Besides, the wife vetoed that fairly quick.

 

I imagine that the war is far from over.  The mice out number us here.  Battles will still be waged.  Traps and pads will be deployed.  Mice will die.  For now, the hope is that we are entering a lull in the battle with the hope of a cease fire until fall.  It is quiet along the front.  The ickiness and gross feelings will fade.  At least until the next scratchy sound above our heads.  Then the battle cry will ring out.  With a heavy sigh I will begin again . . . the battles will rage on.  At least I know that it’s not Mickey or Minnie, Jerry or Speedy, Mighty Mouse or Stuart Little, Chuck E. Cheese or Fievel, or even Pinky and the Brain. They don’t exist . . . thank goodness because I think Mighty Mouse might be a little tough to handle.