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Mouse Hunter

June 16, 2009

Something strange is happening in the White House. It’s turning into Mouseville.  Now, a mouse every now and then is okay. When you live in the country, you’re going to have a mouse or two. Or three.

But this is getting ridiculous.

It’s two or three every day. We have An Influx. An Infestation. We are Overrun.

It’s been an unusually cool and wet spring, with warm days and cool nights, so maybe that has something to do with it. Maybe they’re trying to escape the harsh discomfort of the field for my cozy home. I can see how it would be appealing. Temperate climate, soft cushions, lots of food, a cat who likes to play but doesn’t usually resort to violence. But it is definitely time to draw the line and admit no more little friends, and in fact make sure that all of the unwelcome furry guests find their way elsewhere.

My husband is very impressed that his wife has managed to catch, with her bare hands and nary a shriek of fright, not one but two (!) of the little critters in a matter of moments. It’s actually pretty simple. The cat, Boo, gets them fairly well cornered somewhere, and then I come in to close the deal. I creep stealthily in while Boo sits placidly by, tail twitching in anticipation, and scoop the mouse up from under his nose. Score! (Sorry to take away your toy, Boo.)

Much to Duane’s dismay, though, I next deposit the mouse carefully a good thirty yards or so out in the beyond the barbed wire fence in the field, and return to the house to scrub my hands RAW with antibacterial soap, and then Lysol everything that I may have accidentally touched.

“You need to kill it!” he tells me. “It’s just going to get back inside.”

I get a little…not squeamish, exactly…squirmy, perhaps… at the idea. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Fling it down on the driveway. Hard.” He’s a hard, practical man, my husband. And at least I know we’ll never starve, because squirmy he is definitely not.

So, with the second mouse I caught, I tried to do exactly that. It was more of a drop than a fling, though, and the mouse ran, squeaking in fright, off into the grass of the yard. I released a gusty sigh of relief. That was a close one.

Little Bunny Foo-Foo I am Not.

One Comment leave one →
  1. June 20, 2009 1:02 am

    We get those critters in our house about every other year and I, like you, catch them (but not with my hands!) and then release them into the field down the street from our house. I figure we invaded their happy homes when we built our houses in these fields so I should be nice about it.

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