I have a mouse in the house. At least I think it's a mouse. I really didn't get that good of a look at him. One glimpse and my scream sent him diving under the stove and me running in the opposite direction.
It's been at least 15 years since I've had a rodent in the house (not counting the time the dog chased a chipmunk into the living room), but I knew just what to do. I hopped in my car and went to the nearest store to buy mouse traps and a jar of peanut butter. Yes, I bought the old fashioned, break their necks mouse traps. I also bought two plastic tubs to store anything the little vermin might consider to be on his menu.
I cleaned out the closet and moved cereal, rice, and crackers to the tubs. I learned he was a fast worker and a picky little thing as I threw out several packages and boxes of assorted foods that bore his mark. He had nibbled on brown sugar, marshmallows, and crackers. He hadn't eaten any of the crackers, just the box, he made a pile of mini-marshmallows in a corner but none looked as if he had taken a bite out of them, and he chewed a tiny hole in the sugar. I don't rememer what else. Except it didn't look as if he had touched the stale crackers in the packet next to the marshmallows.
I baited the traps with peanut butter and put one near where I'd seen him, one near where he had been eating, and one in between. I hope that's enough.
He hasn't set them off yet, of course. In all my years of keeping house, I've had only a few rodents in my house, maybe 3 or 4, but I think all of them waited till I was almost asleep, or sound asleep, before tripping the guillotine, SNAP! Then I lie there in bed, my heart nearly beating out of my chest, trying not to have a heart attack, hoping that it's dead and trying not to feel quilty that I don't feel quilty about it.
Do you think it would be extreme if I just spent the night in a hotel and let the little bugger have the run of my place?
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