Of Mice and Men

I noticed it first on my countertop, of all places. Tiny, little black pellets...like chocolate sprinkles.
Only they're not.

My initial reaction was denial. I cleaned the countertop with bleach and pretended it was some kind of weird, supernatural phenomena. Coincidence. A one-time freak incident. And I went along my merry way.

But the sprinkles returned. And then a hole was chewed in the bread on top of the fridge.

I couldn't deny it any longer.

We have a mouse.

But even then I didn't come to full terms with it. Is there such a thing as "a mouse"? Or is it more like "a mouse infestation"?

I told Hubby, who said he would set some traps, and returned to my nice, happy place of Ignore-It-And-It-Will-Go-Away.

One evening while Hubby was working and the kids were in bed, I mosied into the kitchen on my way to retrieve a load of laundry from the dryer. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement on the countertop.

Unless the coffeepot sprouted feet, that should not be happening.

I quietly sneak over to inspect the situation further, with a bit of fear and trepidation, I might add.

And what should I see but a pair of beety little black eyes peeking out from behind one of my yellow apple canisters.

Shudder.

He just sits there, frozen, waiting for my next move. I wad up a paper towel and throw it his direction.

He doesn't even flinch.

Now a mouse in plain sight is bad enough, but a brave mouse sitting there staring you down in your very own kitchen is just downright creepy.

The nerve.

I went from freaked out to mad. How dare that brazen little rodent challenge me?!

So I charge him, knowing full well I won't catch him. But, by golly, I'm gonna give him a good scare.

He bolts, of course. But to where I don't know. He disappeared behind the vegetable steamer and then vanished into thin air.

How do they do that???!!!

And where's the cat during all of this? Asleep on my bed.

That's it. No more food for Cookie. I'm cuttin' her off.

I rummaged around in my box of miscellaneous junk and found a package of EZ set traps. You know, the kind you don't even have to bait because that big, yellow piece of plastic with holes in it is supposed to trick the mice into believing it's real cheese.

They are also easier to set, which saves you a trip to the ER to have your finger reattached.

I set it and put it behind my apple canisters. I even take some little pieces of chocolate cake and sprinkle them around the trap, thinking my plan is quite diabolical. That little mouse is going to be so taken with my homemade chocolate cake he won't even notice he's walking right into a yellow plastic EZ death trap.

Heh, heh, heh.

Next morning I tiptoed gleefully to the kitchen, fully expecting to see my plan had worked.

What did I find?

No cake.

No mouse.

That evening Hubby and I put the kids to bed and watched "The DaVinci Code" while I played with....uh, I mean, wrapped the kids Christmas presents.

All of a sudden we hear a loud SNAP!

And then it screams.

Dear God...the screams.

My Knight In Shining Armour heads to the kitchen to resolve the situation while I cower in the living room.

He then proceeds to tell me all the gory details.

"It's a little one! Cute, too."

Now I'm feeling bad. Sure, I wanted them obliterated and smashed into a million, zillion little pieces, but I didn't actually want to hurt them.

I retreat to the playroom while Hubby disposes of our tiny victim outside. I don't want to see it. I don't want to know. I just want to find my happy place and camp there a while.

But while he is performing the dirty deed, I hear him talking to someone.

Very curious.

Very curious, indeed.

When it's all over I come out of my hiding place and ask who he was talking to.

"The mouse," he says, rather matter-of-factly.

"And what did you say?"

"Well, I told him if he happened to survive the night, to tell all his friends that the Death Angel is coming for them, too."

My hero.