There are many times in my life that I am amazed at my intelligence. This is not one of those times.
While sitting on the couch and watching TV last week with Kevin, I watched a mouse run along the wall, up the stairs, along another wall and disappear under the door into the spare bedroom. My first thought was “Too bad Harley didn’t see it, he loves mice!” It’s true. Harley gets awfully excited about mice, but not in the same annoying way he does for squirrels. Mice seem to baffle him. Perhaps it’s their miniature size which allows them to escape to tiny places Harley can’t get to, or maybe it’s the insanely-high-speeds at which they run. Either way, Harley loudly sniffs everything, cocks his head to the side in confusion, runs in circles, and paws incessantly at the last place he saw the mouse. It’s very entertaining.
My next thought after seeing the mouse was “Shit, I have to set some traps.”
There’s a lot of controversy over what types of traps to set, and the last time I had a mouse problem I researched it. I wanted to buy something that would in fact kill them, but I didn’t want there to be a big mess to clean up afterwards. I know, I know, I should care about mice the way I care about other species in the ecosystem. And killing anything is inhumane… so are the diseases they bring into the house. So they must die.
The traditional snap-traps, while great for killing mice instantly so they don’t suffer, make quite a mess splattering little mouse blood all over. Plus, there is the all-too-real possibility that I will set it off while I’m positioning it and snap my own finger.
The natural choice were the little sticky pads in which the mouse would be caught no matter what part of them touched the pad, and they would die courtesy of a trip outside in the winter, or in a trash bag in the dumpster in warmer weather.
So I set some sticky traps, caught 2 mice in 3 days, and feeling quite pleased with myself, I set a few more in hopes that they will remain empty proving that I have caught all the little freeloaders.
Honestly, they contribute nothing to the household. They eat my food, enjoy the heat that I pay for, and repay me by putting holes in my clothes and leaving little poop pellets all over the place.
This evening, Harley did his little “there’s something back there” dance while looking quite confused, and when I peered behind the dryer, sure enough there was a little mouse moving around pulling the sticky trap behind him.
Upon further investigation, I realized the damned freeloader had somehow only gotten one of his back feet stuck to the trap. Not wanting to get bitten by the thing, I used a long garden pole to grab the pad and pull both it and the mouse to the center of the room where I planned to put a bucket over him until I could figure out how to pick him up and put him outside to die of hypothermia.
I tried to make him move in such a way as to get the rest of him stuck to the pad, but he had gotten dryer lint all over the rest of it and his little body wouldn’t stick. I now see a reason to clean behind my dryer once in awhile.
What’s a girl to do? I called my boyfriend. He suggested getting a pair of pliers to hook to the pad so my hand would be far enough away as to not get bitten and gingerly hold the mouse over the bucket while taking it all outside. Perfect. And this is where it all went wrong.
Somehow between hanging up the phone and mentally locating my pliers, I decide to grab my camera and get some up-close-and-personal shots of Mr. Freeloader. He was kinda cute with those beady little eyes and oversized ears.
In case you’re wondering, the flash of a camera flips mice out! I mean this little dude freaked! He was not an enthusiastic subject. It was awfully difficult to get any good shots there for a few minutes. When he finally calmed down, I took another. And he freaked out again. Thankfully, he was still stuck to the pad, so all he could really do was just twist and contort his little body in violent motions. After a few shots, I noticed that his foot seemed to be coming free of the sticky pad. I grabbed the bucket and just as I was lowering it on top of him, he pulled his little leg free and dashed away. Shit.
Huh. Maybe I should have waited on the photos.
Again, what’s a girl to do? I called my boyfriend and explained the situation in great detail. Luckily, we have this history so he’s already well aware that while I’m relatively intelligent, I’m also pretty stupid sometimes. “If I were there, I’d just pat your head and shake mine,” was his response.
Yeah, that about sums it up.
Epilogue:
Mr. Freeloader’s luck ran out later that evening when curiosity or hunger overtook him and he found himself once again stuck to a sticky pad placed in exactly the same spot as the last one. This time, he was immediately whisked outside to die in the cold. The end.
