Well, not really, but you’ll recognize the literary reference to Robert Burns. Regardless, this post is about a mouse. My friend told me today in the Skype that she had a wee visitor last night. She was watching TV and she heard rustling under the sink. She went to investigate and discovered a mouse in the bottom of the garbage pail!
She grabbed the can, dashed outside, tipped it over, and let it go. *I* said she needed a slap-trap. It’s two bucks and she won’t have mouse problems anymore. BLECH. They are fine in the field and in the forest. I don’t want them in my house though.
She said he came back, so today, she’ll go get a slap-trap and set it up.”Yep,” I said. “You need a slap-trap.”
In Ottawa, we once had a mouse. We were renting a fully-furnished place for a few months after we took six months off to travel in Central America. There was a LAY-Z-BOY in the living room with a blanket to snuggle under while you were watching TV. One day, I discovered a pile of peanuts under the blanket and I was mortified. I thought Stephen had been eating those peanuts and had let a few fall, AND HAD JUST LEFT THEM THERE. They were even in a tidy little pile.
The next day, I found some peanuts stashed in the hall cupboard–and I realized that Stephen wasn’t stockpiling them there. We must have a mouse. I didn’t know what to do about it though. I went and found the peanuts in the kitchen and threw them away. One morning I got up and a tinfoil-covered chocolate Santa was dragged behind the radio, half-eaten. It wasn’t just peanuts anymore. Now, he was getting personal.
I went out and bought a humane mouse trap. I stuck peanut butter in it and set it out. The next morning, I checked. No mouse. I put cheeze-whiz in it and went to work. I got home. No mouse. AND MORE Santas were gone. YUCK! A mouse in my kitchen. YUCK. YUCK. YUCK.
Steve went out and bought a two-dollar slap-trap. We put it out that night and in the morning–dead mouse.
I didn’t feel sorry for it. I gave it a chance.