I’m always reluctant to admit that I occasionally have a mouse in the house as though it will cast aspersions on my house cleaning. (Don’t even go there) I know that it isn’t really any fault of mine. I’ve searched all over outside looking for the teeny, tiny space that they squeeze into in order to set up residence in the cupboard under my kitchen sink. Nothing. So I accept the fact that once in a while I will hear the tiptoeing of tiny feet making their way around the bottles of cleaners and the box of brillo pads, looking for even a speck of cracker crumb that isn’t there.
Long ago, (but not so far away) I lived in a house with a basement. Knowing that basements have a zillion places for little mice to run and hide, I always set up a few traps down there. Once in a while though, a mouse would make it's way upstairs to play in the kitchen drawers. Never actually seeing one walking up the stairs like normal visitors do, I assumed they made their way up through the walls somehow, and not wanting to set traps in the drawers on the chance that I would forget and reach my hand in…….I did the next best thing. When hearing a little rustling in the drawer I would call the dog. A little Yorkshire Terrier named Jiggs, who was the best mouser you have ever seen. Unlike cats who tend to play around with their catch, tossing it up in the air a few times, ewww, Jiggs got right down to business. All I would have to do is call him over, “hear that Jiggs? now get ready on three” and yank the drawer open as fast as I could so the mouse would be startled just long enough for Jiggs to grab him. Worked every time!! Of course, I immediately had to say “lets go outside Jiggs, and bring your new toy with you”.
But back to the present. No basement and sadly no little Jiggs anymore. Now it’s strictly trap times. And although mice don’t scare me and I don’t yell eeeek and jump on a chair, and I actually think some of them are kinda cute, that doesn’t mean that I want them to raise their family and their family's family in my cupboards. So….I set a little trap with their favorite cheddar cheese (hey, their last meal should at least be a good one) and put it in the right spot and wait.
The next morning I take the trap with it’s sad little addition and empty it on the back lawn so that at least Harry the hawk can benefit from the little mouse’s misfortune.
And no I did not take an after picture. That would be a bit much, even for me.