We've lived in this house for eight years now. We live 1/10th of a mile off the road and have 30 acres of field on one side, brush and pasture in the front and back and brush to the side. I think it pretty much goes without too much explanation - we have critters. We have armadillos, coyotes, window possums, mangling raccoons that love dogfood, window snakes, not baby copperheads, closeted yellowjackets and various other varmints. We also have mice. Lots and lots of mice.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
At this particular moment in time we have four cats - a tom named Floppsy (because he got caught under the truck and broke his foot and it flopped for awhile), two kittens, Zeeb and Carbon and our rather prolific momma cat, recently renamed Michelle Duggar. (What? She's had like, 174 litters over the past seven years, it just seemed like a good name change.) This merry band of felines usually keep the mouse population from entering our house, but apparently Michelle Duggar has morning sickness or something and one got in our house this week.
Monday morning we were going through our usual routine when the discovery was made. I had been sitting on the edge of the couch for probably a good 20 minutes, fixing Abby's hair and then Kady's. We had VH1 going, I had quizzed Sam on his spelling words; in other words, we were not being quiet or still at all.
The kids had cleared out of the room, leaving me alone to watch that song that Abby says sounds like there are ducks in the background (I don't hear waterfowl in it, but she swears that's what it sounds like) when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I looked to my left and there stood ....... the mouse.
He was wearing a little cowboy hat and had holsters criss-crossed over his hairy little mousy chest. He stared at me, moving the cigarette dangling from his lip as he grinned casually. Raising his mousy paw, he removed the cigarette and spit on the ground. *patooey!* Small claws tapped slowly on the butt of the gun resting securely in its holster. He winked.
That's when I screamed.
And began shouting expletives as I hoisted myself from the edge of the couch to a standing position on the middle cushion. Of course, all three kids came running up the hall. Suddenly the mouse was naked as he fled under cover of the ottoman, thus ruining my chances of the children witnessing the fact we had a Clint Eastwood look-alike rodent in our house. Dang sneaky mouse.
Abby finally shouted above my screams, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN??" I managed to articulate the word MMMMMMMOUSE!!! and because she is the oldest and the one who likes to control every situation she asked, "What do you want me to do? Who do you want me to call? Daddy? Kevin? (the neighbor) WHO, MOM? WHO??" I shook my head and continued screaming.
Instead of allowing her mother to have a stroke right there on the sofa in front of her two younger siblings, she said, "Sam. Get me the broom. I'm going to kill it."
She. Is. My. Hero.
My daughter who is one day short of being a full-fledged, card-carrying teenager and at that moment had eyeliner on a full 1/4" thick below her eyes, was wearing a shirt that plainly stated, "I didn't slap you. I just high-fived you in the face," and was reeking of Butterfly Flower body splash, grabbed my kitchen broom, kicked the ottoman and when the mouse ran out proceeded to attempt to beat the living snot out of the nasty thing. She got a few hits in, but ya know, those mice are incredibly flexible and if you don't hit 'em hard enough they just kind of squish, they don't die. He eventually managed to flee to the safety of the cabinet that houses Wii, PS2 and board games and the battle was over.
I was disappointed for two reasons: 1. I really wanted Abby to be able to brag about a fresh kill to all her friends, which would in turn make them all squeal and turn pale because Abby is one stylish bad-a*s and 2. because I knew that meant I had to leave the house because there was no way I was staying here with a dadgum battle-weary rodent all day with only a 15 month old to protect me. He's just not coordinated enough to deliver a deadly blow with a broom just yet.
Conner and I did indeed leave the house as soon as the bus picked up the school kids and we didn't come back to the house until noon. I called Paul after I bought snap traps and sticky traps and boy howdy, every person that worked in the vault at the casino that day had a good ol' laugh at my expense, especially after I asked him what I needed to bait the sticky trap with. Hey, I didn't know! In my mind it made complete sense to put a tasty, tempting morsel in the middle of the trap so the little bugger would be more inclined to walk on it. Apparently not. Apparently mice are stupid enough to walk across a sticky piece of cardboard for no reason whatsoever ALL ON THEIR OWN.
So far the mouse is still managing to avoid capture, but late at night when everyone else is asleep and the house is quiet and dark......I swear I can hear the theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly being whistled from under the ottoman.