We've been having a shit ass mouse problem all fall. My husband, the Dog, is a kind soul who loves animals. He even saves spiders and tosses them outside. I am a heartless twat who would much rather smush them with a kleenex and flush them down the toilet. If it rains, it rains. At least the little fuckers won't have time to make webs on the ceiling that I'LL inevitably have to clean.
The first mouse showed up about two months ago. The cat was bashing it about on the stair landing and I was frozen at the top step wondering if I had the balls to get down. This went on for about 24 hours off and on. Then my man decided to be all heroic and save the wee mouse from the clutches of the cat and take him outside to safety. And how did this cute mouse thank him? By biting him twice on the hand.
Two bandaids and a tetanus shot later, the Dog was convinced that there was only one mouse and it was dealt with. No, I insisted, these things have a gestational period of like 10 days or something. So when there is one mouse, there are MORE. Telltale signs of mouse shit started appearing underneath my sink. They were clearly enjoying the warmth behind the dishwasher and sneaking out for crumbs when the cat was on break.
The cat caught two more mice. Both times she brought them upstairs into Nate's room. Both times the Dog managed to usher her outside with her prey, a murderous look in her eyes. Then I insisted on traps. Nate is the crawl-master now and all over the floor. His pincer grip is able to grasp the tiniest fleck with thumb and index finger, making it easy for him to basically eat mouse shit. The mice HAD to go.
The first trap killed one within 20 minutes of being set. The Dog sighed. "I don't like to kill things," he muttered, tossing the dead carcass onto the backyard snow. I felt bad for being such a cold bitch and told him we wouldn't set anymore traps and leave the rest to the cat.
The next morning, we were about to FINALLY get it on and baptize the new mattress. Nate started to cry in his room. Well actually, the Dog got turned on as I was nursing Nate in our bed (we all like a snuggle in the morn). "Sometimes it turns me on that you can do that," he said, giving me the look. Hey, I'm no fool, so I told him to put the baby in his room with some toys and shut the door. (Bad Mommy, I know, I am a fucking whore) But just as the Dog made it back into our bedroom, Nate started whining. "Give him a toy that makes noise," I instructed. "Push some buttons to distract him."
So he stepped out the door to our room and SQUISH! Turns out the cat had been playing with a mouse on the stairs and the Dog was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He smashed its head in with his foot (thank God we hadn't gotten far enough for his socks to be off) and there was blood all over my top step. Needless to say, we didn't pick up where we left off.
The traps were promptly re-set. This week we've caught 6 mice in traps and the cat took care of another. But all has been quiet for the last few days when the extreme cold must have taken care of the rest of them.
Still I can't help but feel a little twinge of guilt each night as I read from Goodnight Moon , "There was a little toyhouse/ And a young mouse" and notice that the cute mouse is in almost every colour illustration in the damn book. Ah well.