Half-conscious, I woke in the middle of the night to do what many people do when they wake in the middle of the night. As I washed my hands, I noticed for an instant a dark-colored object that seemed to fall from the ceiling. I turned, as quickly as a languid person can, and saw it. It scurried quickly from behind my trash bin, compressed its body, and squeezed itself under the door. I leaped. I hadn't been that frightened in a long time. Then I realized what I had seen. It was a mouse, and I had been invaded.
I looked around a bit, then thought little more about it as I went back to sleep. To be fair, I was fairly tired, and I knew the small beast was probably well-hidden by now and not likely to show its face. The next morning, I looked further, and found no further evidence, but resolved to set traps after work.
After learning that the sticky traps I purchased were inhumane, I procured lever traps. In these, a mouse enters the door to eat the bait, only to find the door-- a see-saw lever-- trap it from behind. I set it that night with peanut butter as my bait, and woke the next morning to find the deed so far done. The mouse had taken the bait and was tucked comfortably-- if fearfully-- in a corner of the trap.
Still, I was too short-sighted to think through my next move. I placed oatmeal in a plastic bag and resolved to dump my new friend in and thereafter transfer him to my garbage bin (I know, it sounds mean to throw a mouse away, but I wasn't going to let it reenter the house). The mouse outsmarted me, however. It hung for dear life as I shook the trap more and more vigorously over the bag, until finally the mouse fell. It did not fall as I had planned, however, for it clung then to one side of the bag, leaped to the outside with its mouse hind legs, fell to the floor, and scurried under my stove. I had failed, and what was to be a short, twelve-hour battle became a protracted war. The score was now thus:
Tony: 1 (having trapped him)
Mouse: 1 (having escaped with such guile)
That night, I set the same trap again, hoping the mouse would fall for it a second time. It did, and this time I took him outside and dropped him without guilt into the garbage bin, where he will reside with the oatmeal I placed inside until garbage day.
I learned that mice are voracious, that they defecate profusely, are nocturnal, and can climb incredible heights with their powerful legs, aside from knowing they like to remain along the walls. More important, perhaps, I also learned fear, failure, and triumph as I faced an enemy no larger than the head of a tablespoon.
I looked around a bit, then thought little more about it as I went back to sleep. To be fair, I was fairly tired, and I knew the small beast was probably well-hidden by now and not likely to show its face. The next morning, I looked further, and found no further evidence, but resolved to set traps after work.
After learning that the sticky traps I purchased were inhumane, I procured lever traps. In these, a mouse enters the door to eat the bait, only to find the door-- a see-saw lever-- trap it from behind. I set it that night with peanut butter as my bait, and woke the next morning to find the deed so far done. The mouse had taken the bait and was tucked comfortably-- if fearfully-- in a corner of the trap.
Still, I was too short-sighted to think through my next move. I placed oatmeal in a plastic bag and resolved to dump my new friend in and thereafter transfer him to my garbage bin (I know, it sounds mean to throw a mouse away, but I wasn't going to let it reenter the house). The mouse outsmarted me, however. It hung for dear life as I shook the trap more and more vigorously over the bag, until finally the mouse fell. It did not fall as I had planned, however, for it clung then to one side of the bag, leaped to the outside with its mouse hind legs, fell to the floor, and scurried under my stove. I had failed, and what was to be a short, twelve-hour battle became a protracted war. The score was now thus:
Tony: 1 (having trapped him)
Mouse: 1 (having escaped with such guile)
That night, I set the same trap again, hoping the mouse would fall for it a second time. It did, and this time I took him outside and dropped him without guilt into the garbage bin, where he will reside with the oatmeal I placed inside until garbage day.
I learned that mice are voracious, that they defecate profusely, are nocturnal, and can climb incredible heights with their powerful legs, aside from knowing they like to remain along the walls. More important, perhaps, I also learned fear, failure, and triumph as I faced an enemy no larger than the head of a tablespoon.
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