The important thing is, we have fewer mice.

Back in the day we thought we only had one, very intrepid one. Squeak, we named him. As in, "Dude, Squeak's right behind you," and "Squeak totally seems to be ignoring these four Hav-a-Heart traps", and "Was it my fever, or did Squeak really just hop up on the couch next to me and check me out?" We ordered every non-lethal trap Amazon sold, and Squeak ignored them all. We watched him run across the *top* of one, which totally added insult to injury.

(Speaking of injury, I should note right here that we're NOT going to set out lethal traps and that any "you're stupid to go to all this trouble instead of just killing them" comments will not be received well. Just FYI, hypothetical commenter-person).

Anyhow, it was that last 'O hai! R u uzing this couch cushun?' incident that made me bite the bullet and go get heavy-duty mousing supplies. Glue traps. Vegetable oil (aka 'glue antidote'). An empty trashcan (aka 'Holding Cell 19'). And it worked! Within two hours of setting the traps there were some shrill squeaks from the corner (I've gotten to know this sound pretty well, the 'WTF!' call of Rodentus Cambridgeportus). I lifted the trap up, set it down inside the Holding Cell, poured a liberal amount of oil over mouse and trap, and breathed a sigh of relief as Squeak wiggled free from the loosened glue and began exploring his new temporary home.

And then the WTF squeaks sounded in another part of the house.


This morning we said goodbye to Squeak 4, in our time-honored method of driving the Holding Cell across the river, parking, carrying the Cell over the pedestrian bridge and to the secluded section of the park where we've released his three siblings, putting down some cereal so he won't go hungry and then letting him go. (D insists we do all this so that the mice can't track us home. Personally, I think she just likes messing with the heads of the rowing crews going past on the Charles). 4 was noticeably larger than the first three, which makes me hopeful that we're working our way up the chain of command. Either that or there's some sort of 'conservation of multiple mouse mass' equation at work which dictates that the weight and size of the mice in our house will remain constant even if the number of mice changes. If I go out to the kitchen in November and discover a mouse the size of a wombat, I'll know what's up.



July 2013

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