Slice of Life Day 23: The Great Mouse Invasion of 2006

(I stole this slice idea from Molly Hogan... unwelcome visitors make for great stories.)

Our house is in the middle of three cornfields, so every year when the fields get combined, lots of furry residents suddenly lose their homes and are searching for a replacement. Our house is centrally located, with convenient access from all points! (This was NOT a selling point when we bought it, just a happy little discovery we made afterward!)

In 2006, we were having a lot of visitors. At least two every day. I am a pacifist, an animal lover, and a fairly squeamish person, so I bought the "humane" traps. The ones designed to catch, but not kill. My husband was less excited about these than I was, since he was the one who had to empty the traps.

I know it is ridiculous, as I am roughly 320x's the size of a mouse, but I am terrified of them and will refuse to deal with them, trapped or not. I will stand on anything to avoid the possibility one might jump out at me or run across the room in front of me. (It's ironic; I had a pet rat in college that I loved and would let climb all over me. But I think that was because he had permission. This just feels like they are taking advantage.)

So one night, we were comfortably situated in the living room when we heard the unmistakable *SNAP* of the trap in the kitchen. I looked at my husband. "You'd better get that." He sighed, rolled his eyes, and left the room. A few seconds later I heard the sliding glass door open as he went outside with our visitor.

And suddenly, another *SNAP* resounded from the kitchen. Uh-oh, I thought. He's outside. What should I do? I am NOT going in there. In the space it took for me to think that, and to hear the sliding glass door open again, another *SNAP* came from the kitchen.

This one was followed by squealing. Loud, sustained, piercing squealing. "EEEEEEEEKKKKKK! EEEEEEEKKKKKKKK! EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK!" echoed through the house. It was awful. I covered my ears and started to cry. Soon the squealing was accompanied by loud dragging sounds. "EEEKKKKK!!!" Sssrrrrruuuch. "EEEKKK!" Sssssrrruuchh. THUMP.  and so on.

The sliding glass door in the kitchen opened again, and my heroic husband made the shrieking stop. The house went silent. When he came back in, I looked up at him, anxious for an explanation.

"His butt was caught in the trap. He was dragging it all over the kitchen. His butt was caught. Can we PLEASE get some real mousetraps? These humane things are pieces of crap." I decided he was probably right, and in spite of what my animal-loving heart thought, my peace-and-quiet-loving brain won out. We got some regular mouse traps.

We also discovered that there was a hole running from the attic to the kitchen down the side of the chimney. That was where all of our "guests" were coming from. So we plugged the hole with steel wool, and my determined husband decided that we were putting heavy-duty poison out in the attic. I objected, but he had made his mind up. In the end, his common sense won the day. We haven't had another mouse invasion since that year, just the occasional visitor.

I think I'm good with that.