Of mice and man.

If you follow me on Twitter then you might be aware that I began having problems with mice late this past Fall. Not problems with mice as a concept or a species, but rather they began to invade my home which I saw as a problem. Invasive is the apropos word as they were never invited and they ran about the place like they owned it. I suppose, though, that this was a comfort they eased into. At first, I would only hear them scampering about in the air vents. No doubt a nuisance, but hey, you have your space and I'll have mine. Then they began to creep about the trailer while I slept leaving little signs of their presence for me to find when I woke up. This was a little more unsettling. Suddenly they're the Manson clan minus all the horrific killing; small pellets of defecation leaving their rally cry of Helter Skelter. Finally, they began to run about in the evening right in front of my face, almost taunting me. I think they even enjoyed my chasing them around with a broom. I can't tell you how much it resembled a true-to-life episode of Tom and Jerry. The only way it would have been better would be if I slammed my head and folded up like an accordion as I chased one into a hole in the wall. Now if any readers still have sympathy for the mice at this point I propose this question before we proceed. How would you like it if I crept into your house every evening after sun fall, ate small portions of your food, ran around like a madman over all your furniture and counter tops, and took a pantless crap every 30 seconds?

Ahem...well anyway, come Winter the mice disappeared completely. I assume they were cryogenically frozen beneath the trailer with Walt Disney or something. Once again, I had the place to myself which was a beautiful thing since I was snowed in and couldn't go anywhere anyway. A couple weeks ago, however, the weather became a touch nicer and for the first time in 3 months I began to see signs of them again. I guess they unfroze, thawed out and came back to life. No signs of Disney yet.

Yesterday after work, I stopped by Lowe's and bought two old-fashioned mousetraps and two new age, reusable mousetraps. The old-fashioned traps were slightly smaller than I hoped for, but they were all out of the larger ones. Apparently I'm not the only one with this problem. I can only hope that no one in the area is holding a large group of Hebrews against the Lord's will. The new age, reusable mousetraps look completely different from the old-fashioned ones. I'm guessing they lure the mouse in with signs of the Zodiac and the false promise of humanism. However they work, the promise is death for the mouse that takes the bait. After dinner I set up all four traps in various places in my kitchen and carried on with my business.

Not thirty minutes later I hear "SNAP" under the kitchen sink as one of the traps goes off. I ran to the sink and opened the cabinet to see the bottom side of an old-fashioned mousetrap bouncing about with a long tail sticking out from it. The mouse underneath still had a lot of fight left in him as he struggled beneath the trap. I thought about grabbing the trap with my bare hands to see what I'd caught and dispose of it, but as I reached into the cabinet visions of the Bubonic Plague and cartloads of the dead being wheeled through the cobblestone streets of Europe began to flash through my head. I decided to first put on a work glove. As I was returning, I watched the trap hobble its way to a hole by the pipes and scurry underneath the cabinet and out of reach before I could grab it. My first thought was, "Crap. That mouse is going to die under there, out of reach, and the whole trailer is going to stink for a week." My second thought was, "Son a biscuit, that 46 cent trap was suppose to be reusable. Now I'm down to just three! (sigh)...another trip to Lowe's." In an attempt to retrieve the mouse and trap I took apart a 57 cent wire hanger, fashioned it to reach beneath the cabinet and fished around for the dying mouse for the next 30 minutes. I finally gave up and spent the next two hours listening to the mouse gnawing furiously at some wood. I don't know if he was eating into my cabinet as a final "F.U." or if he was trying to chew out of the trap. Either way he was out of my reach and it was out of my hands. I left the other three traps where they were and went to bed.

In the middle of the night I awoke to another, "SNAP!" I knew immediately that I had another mouse, but I didn't see the need to get out of bed as the other three traps were left in places of no escape no matter how much the mouse struggled around. I fell back asleep content with the idea of a kill that couldn't get away.

Hours later I awoke to find my kitchen a gruesome, horrific crime scene. I first noticed an old-fashioned mousetrap in the middle of the kitchen, far from the baseboard where I had staged it. I rubbed my eyes as I approached and squinted trying to determine if I was seeing things correctly. The trap was empty! That son of a gun had struggled all the way to the middle of the kitchen then managed to free himself...and all the peanut butter was gone! No wonder they were sold out of the big traps. These little ones don't finish the job. They just torture the mouse and give it a good scare. I quickly glanced over my shoulder and around the cabin thinking of an angry mouse, out for revenge. I appeared to be alone. I looked over to the place I had originally set the trap and saw blood everywhere. It was horrible.

On either side of where the trap had been there were large splatterings of blood where it had no doubt exploded out of the nostrils and rectum of the creature as the medal clamp slammed down on its body. These were surrounded by solid pools of blood all about that were the result of the ensuing struggle to get free. Thank God I hadn't set this trap up on the carpet. There was no sign of the mouse anywhere. No further trail of blood that I could follow. I can only assume that he freed himself and crawled back to the gathering place beneath the trailer, recanting to others the horrors that lie above, his bloodied and battered body speaking louder than the words themselves.

Will this deter future visitations from him and others? Will they come back stronger and wiser? Is it safe for me to sleep now? Should I get a cat? Seven cats? I guess only time will answer this question. I'm optimistic though. If there's one thing Cheney and the last administration taught me concerning dealing with terrorists it's this: sometimes a little torture is a good thing.