Of Mice and Mom

This fall we have some new residents in our house. A family of mice - or as my mom insists on calling them, rodents. “Rodents” sounds more offensive than "mice" to me, because "rodents" could be referring to something worse than mice. (Read: rats.)

Our first clue that we “had visitors” (there’s like a million euphemisms for this kind of situation) was pretty clear: a chewed-through hole in a bag of tortilla chips in the cupboard, along with some telltale droppings. Yes, gross. We spent a lot of time trying to crack the mystery of how the mouse got into the cupboard (an upper cupboard with no holes in it, and definitely no mouse-size stairs leading up to it). Sixteen inches seemed too high to jump, especially into an opening about a half-inch wide, assuming the door wasn’t tightly closed. After wracking my feeble little brain, the only explanation that made sense to me is this:

Turns out it wasn't a one-time feat. He continued to get into the cupboard at night, treating himself to the peanut butter glob on the mousetrap, which was licked clean repeatedly. After a couple more "incidents," my theory evolved to:

Eventually we purchased better traps, and he met his demise. Then his friend came and chewed a hole in the Ramen noodle container. And even after he was "eliminated," we continued to find unsprung traps with the bait gone. 

It began to seem like there was an army of supermice.

Once it became clear that there were more than two or three rodents (more on that later) somehow managing to get in and out of the cupboards, my sister suggested that the most logical explanations involved careful planning by the perpetrators...

Teamwork...

And most likely, sophisticated equipment.

Seriously, it makes as much sense as anything else.

Getting back to numbers, yes, there are more than two or three "friends." Further investigation by Randy revealed a likely point of entry in the laundry room. He set some traps down there, and let's just say... We're not talking just Mickey and Minnie. More like the whole Mickey Mouse Club.

Speaking of Mickey and Minnie, up until two days ago, I was able to calmly co-exist with the mice because I had not actually laid eyes on one - dead or alive. That fact allowed me to convince myself that if I were to see one, it would be wearing clothes and singing - perhaps it would even help me with the laundry, much like Cinderella's crew helped her get ready for the ball. I convinced myself of their cuteness - their animated-ness - so much that when Randy told me he thought he had found where they were getting in, I immediately pictured a small, arched doorway at the base of the wall, complete with a wooden door and a welcome mat.

As I said, this reverie lasted until two days ago. The fun's over, my friends. I glimpsed a caught mouse, flip over in a trap, white tummy fur and all.

I thought that if we put all of our food in plastic containers (and it is. It is locked up tighter than Alcatraz) and sealed off their entry point, it would just be a matter of killing off the family. (I feel a little like Don Corleone in The Godfather saying that. "We gotta gid rid of the entire Tattalagia family...") I expressed my dismay to Abby that they still keep "showing up" (dead, in traps. But still!) I said, "How many can there be in this family?" Abby said she's pretty sure the Mouse Duggar Family has moved in.

I can just imagine: Nineteen Mice and Counting!  That'd be awesome.