Storm of Thoughts

A Mouse in the House

Yes, our house. We have a mouse. Actually, we know of at least two mice. (And, the fear, of course, is that there are more.) I’m disgusted just saying it. And a little embarrassed to admit it. Before you point any fingers, though, let me point my own. Sure, we have crumbs. (Don’t you??) But we’re clean. We vacuum. (Actually, Pete vacuums a lot, which is one of his many great qualities. Right up there with dish washing.) There isn’t too much for a mouse to want in our house. Which is why we (and everyone we’ve talked to) agrees that they came from the apartment downstairs. Where there may or may not be crumbs, but we assume there are plenty, and where the back door, right next to the garbage bins, is always open. Besides, no matter where they originate, everyone deals with mice at some point, right?

Now that I know you’re not judging me, let me tell you that I’m more disgusted by all of this than you are. I hate mice. I know some people think mice are cute, but I don’t understand these people. I would be much happier if I didn’t have to imagine mice running around on their little mice feet in and out of our bedroom at night while I was trying to sleep. (I also imagine a barefooted run-in during the middle of the night as I cross the kitchen to get to the bathroom and a mouse frantically tries to get out of my way.)

But what started as disgusting has slowly become maddening. The first time we realized we might have a mouse problem was when we found - well, evidence - of mice, sometimes in normal places (like the fruit bowl) and other times in nonsensical places (like on top of the printer). But, a week or so ago, while I was away, Pete had the first actual mouse sighting. It was in the kitchen. Kitchen Mouse ran out under our stand-alone island and watched Pete enjoy his dinner on the couch in the living room before scampering off, as mice do. Which explains why Pete was so apt to believe me when, over the weekend, while watching a movie on the couch, I thought I may have seen something small moving through the kitchen. Of course, I didn’t know about the previous sighting, since Pete, being as smart as he is, failed to mention it to me. After Kitchen Mouse retreated, we settled back in to our movie. But it wasn’t long before we spotted a mouse in front of our wine fridge, which sits near the living room TV.

This is where we started to get annoyed. These mice were not hiding in corners, sneaking out only in darkness in search of food and trembling at the idea of humans. They were prancing out, in broad daylight, to see what we were doing. And this was only the beginning. Two nights in a row, after we had made dinner and sat down with it (both times on the living room couch), Kitchen Mouse emerged from under the oven and ran to the island to see what was going on. Actually, we’ve settled into a routine now. Every night, Kitchen Mouse runs back and forth for awhile under the island, realizes he’s been spotted, and then heads back to the oven. Soon after, Living Room Mouse, who, unlike his brown friend, is smaller and grey, comes out to watch TV, play Wii, or check on our wine supply before heading back to his home (and, we assume, a hole that leads downstairs) under the loveseat.

I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking: “The audacity!” But just you wait, because the brazenness doesn’t end there. Ever since the original “evidence” - and again after Pete’s first sighting - we have set and reset traps, filled with peanut butter and, occasionally, cheese. (Once we even tried chocolate.) All of these traps, painstakingly set and placed in the most promising locations along walls and under cabinets, have been ignored. Each and every one. Now, at first I assumed their failure was due to the fact that the peanut butter is reduced fat. Apparently even mice can tell the difference. But now we’re pretty sure that the mice are getting their fill of food downstairs (see previous theory about crumbs, above) and venturing upstairs simply to taunt us.

And so the battled continued. (And, by battle, I mean Pete and I getting increasingly annoyed, as he stakes out their favorite spots with a flashlight while I stay safely on the couch or, sometimes, in the most dangerous situations, the bed.) We moved the traps to the most frequented areas, like under the kitchen island. We re-baited. We tried new foods. And we waited. But still, every morning, the traps would come up empty. Yesterday, we knew what to expect. We made dinner, reset the island trap, headed to the couch, and waited. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, Kitchen Mouse emerged from under the island. He walked straight to the trap, looked at the peanut butter, and it was here that I swear I saw a smirk cross his smug little face before he turned and ran back under the oven. Annoyed, Pete hatched a new plan. This time, he set up three traps all around Kitchen’s Mouse favorite leg of the island. We left the light on (as our mice don’t prefer darkness) and closed the door between the kitchen and the living room. When we returned, one of the traps had been moved by an inch or two. I assume, of course, that Kitchen Mouse (the obvious ringleader) called in Living Room Mouse in to help him play a trick on us or, possibly, to bring the trap back to his lair, disengage it, and safely enjoy a snack. I wouldn’t put it past him.

So now, not only are the mice ignoring our traps, they’re actually mocking us. Which, as you can imagine, is pretty frustrating. And we’re quickly running out of ideas. (Is it possible to be outsmarted by a mouse?) We need a good exterminator. Or a cat. Or, I guess, we could always just hand the apartment over to them. They’ve practically earned it.

Suggestions?

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