Mouse Wrangling
May. 8th, 2003 09:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oakenguySo it turns out that the best no-kill trap for mice is not any of the expensive gadgets we bought at the hardware store. No no. It is, in fact, Toby's twenty-pound bag of dry dogfood.
So I get home from from my (abortive) meeting at Diesel, and there're D and Toby pacing around the kitchen nervously. D, in the tones of Rudolph's parents warning him about the Abominable Snowman, tells me that judging from the horrible scrabbling noises, there is a Horrible Thing trapped in the dogfood bag. But, I point out, the bag's not only folded shut, there's a book resting on it! How could**SCRABBLERUSTLESHREDSCRABBLE**
Okay, I admit, as I climb down from the countertop I've somehow levitated onto, there does seem to be something in there. So now what?
D makes a suggestion, but while burning the house down and making a fresh start in another state IS tempting, it would be rude to do that while![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
callunav still has boxes in the basement. So let's carry the bag outside and try releasing Mickey in the wild.
We talk about how far is far enough. D votes for New Hampshire. I ask her which of us will drive, and which of us will hold the bag with the mouse (or, as D is referring to it, The Rat) on our lap. The mouse with the little sharp gnawing teeth. Driving is vetoed.
I volunteer to take it to the bike path and release it. D thinks this is too close, but I point out a) it's not a homing pigeon; b) it's a well-lit place with lots of people who'll call 911 if we start screaming; and c) I'm too lazy to walk miles holding a dogfood bag, mouse or no mouse.
So I take the dogfood bag to the park, nervously, carefully. I lay it flat on the ground, and jump back. No mouse.
I kick it a couple times. No mouse.
I have sudden visions of standing out here in the park for hours, staring at a dogfood bag. What if the mouse wasn't in the bag at all, but beside it? How long will I wait before I risk Face Full of Rodent to find out for sure?
In a move that D later describes as 'a Monty Python sketch waiting to happen', I lean in close and open the bag wider. No mouse. I cautiously peek inside. Shadows, lots of little brown things, hard to tell...
I step back and kick the very bottom of the bag, and suddenly there's MOUSE! Who looks around for a second, and then darts under the fence and onto the property of Sex Shop Boy, and may their union be blessed.
So here's what the cop who'd been walking towards me all this time saw: a long-haired, nervous-looking guy repeatedly kicking and talking to a dogfood bag laying on the ground, then jumping backwards, then picking up the bag and walking quickly away. At which point, this being Somerville, he thought something along the lines of "I'm not paid NEARLY enough to deal with this," and kept walking.
So I get home from from my (abortive) meeting at Diesel, and there're D and Toby pacing around the kitchen nervously. D, in the tones of Rudolph's parents warning him about the Abominable Snowman, tells me that judging from the horrible scrabbling noises, there is a Horrible Thing trapped in the dogfood bag. But, I point out, the bag's not only folded shut, there's a book resting on it! How could**SCRABBLERUSTLESHREDSCRABBLE**
Okay, I admit, as I climb down from the countertop I've somehow levitated onto, there does seem to be something in there. So now what?
D makes a suggestion, but while burning the house down and making a fresh start in another state IS tempting, it would be rude to do that while
callunav still has boxes in the basement. So let's carry the bag outside and try releasing Mickey in the wild.We talk about how far is far enough. D votes for New Hampshire. I ask her which of us will drive, and which of us will hold the bag with the mouse (or, as D is referring to it, The Rat) on our lap. The mouse with the little sharp gnawing teeth. Driving is vetoed.
I volunteer to take it to the bike path and release it. D thinks this is too close, but I point out a) it's not a homing pigeon; b) it's a well-lit place with lots of people who'll call 911 if we start screaming; and c) I'm too lazy to walk miles holding a dogfood bag, mouse or no mouse.
So I take the dogfood bag to the park, nervously, carefully. I lay it flat on the ground, and jump back. No mouse.
I kick it a couple times. No mouse.
I have sudden visions of standing out here in the park for hours, staring at a dogfood bag. What if the mouse wasn't in the bag at all, but beside it? How long will I wait before I risk Face Full of Rodent to find out for sure?
In a move that D later describes as 'a Monty Python sketch waiting to happen', I lean in close and open the bag wider. No mouse. I cautiously peek inside. Shadows, lots of little brown things, hard to tell...
I step back and kick the very bottom of the bag, and suddenly there's MOUSE! Who looks around for a second, and then darts under the fence and onto the property of Sex Shop Boy, and may their union be blessed.
So here's what the cop who'd been walking towards me all this time saw: a long-haired, nervous-looking guy repeatedly kicking and talking to a dogfood bag laying on the ground, then jumping backwards, then picking up the bag and walking quickly away. At which point, this being Somerville, he thought something along the lines of "I'm not paid NEARLY enough to deal with this," and kept walking.
