Like many people, we have a mouse problem this time of year. We (ie. David) has caulked and nailed and plugged holes with steel wool. The good news is they are no longer frolicing on our dishes and partying in the silverware drawer, because that? Made me want to burn the entire house down.
No, now they just scamper around on our kitchen counters. After finding banana after banana having been burrowed into and hollowed out (which, I admit, is sort of cute but still....eewww), we took to putting the bananas in the bread box. There is NOTHING left out on our counters that resembles food, and yet every morning, I find still mouse poo in the corners and behind the blender. Which causes me to go all Mommy Dearest with the Clorox cleaning products.
As you know, we live with a small, tyrannical animal-rights activist. We have been warned not to kill any mice in our attempts to discourage them from eating our food and, you know, leaving hanitvirus on our forks.
Which means, of course, that we just waited until she went to her dad's for the week before setting up our ammo. David had purchased some high-tech contraption that looks like a harmless black box that you put some dog food in and then, when they go in, basically shocks the shit out of them. I'm sure he researched the crap out of that thing before purchasing it but the fact is? It doesn't work. So I set out a couple of the good old-fashioned snap traps.
First morning: nothing.
And then? This morning....the trap had indeed been set off. But there was no dead mouse. Instead (oh I can hardly bring myself to even write this) there was a tiny pool of blood behind it.
That's right: I am WORSE than a mouse killer. I am a MOUSE MAMER.
Anna must never know of this. I threw that damn mouse trap in the garbage and will never use one again. And I'm going to buy some very tiny baindaids and a shot of whiskey and leave them on the counter when I go to bed tonight.