I Case You Weren’t Wondering Why You Still Read This Blog

You will be when you’re through with this.

I’ve previously mentioned my problems with mice here (that last one’s kind of a good post and one that I have absolutely no memory of writing, interesting).  I hate them.  But hate doesn’t really cover it, I’m scared of them.  But again simple fear doesn’t really cover it, I have a fear bordering on phobia of the little furry, gnawing, harbingers of black plague (wait, that was rats wasn’t it?  and it wasn’t black plague, it was bubonic, or … some other plague, whatever, I hate the things, got it?)  So a few weeks ago when I saw all the tell-tale signs of mouse I was, understandably, freaked out.  But not nearly as freaked out as I was a few days later when I saw the mouse.  In the flesh.  (Insert full body shudder here.)

I saw the horrid little rodent running along the baseboards in my kitchen so I did what any self respecting mouse-phobic would do, I ran out of the kitchen and called my husband and told him that he had to some home immediately.  Can you believe he refused?!  So then I did the next best thing, I got out some more poison, forced myself back into the kitchen and gave all the baseboards where I saw him (the mouse not my husband) a liberal sprinkling.

Did I mention that my kids went back to school?  Hallelujah, praise Allah, and all associated exclamations of joy, they, finally, after 6 weeks off during a time of year when it’s too cold to leave the house so they just stay in and fight with each other, and tease their little brothers and whine that they’re bored and eat ALL DAY, went back to school.

Back to our story.

I gave the kitchen a pretty wide berth the rest of that morning but  eventually the kids needed food so I braved dangerous territory and made them lunch.  And all was well until… the Infantile Delinquent and I sat down to eat, at which point I noticed a small furry ball curled up against the edge of my cupboard in the middle of my kitchen (he was against the edge of a cupboard that makes a peninsula so yes, it it possible to be against the cupboard and still in the middle of my kitchen) and he wasn’t moving.  Much. Eeeeeee!

So naturally, I called Sean again and again he refused to come home immediately, something about earning money so that we could feed the children who think they have to eat multiple times a day, (the details will be in the divorce papers) so I was on my own.   What to do?  I had it and I didn’t want it to get away again but at the same time there was no way I was going to, gulp, touch it.

I got a  jar. And veeery, slowly, holding my breath and biting my tongue to prevent any accidental screaming, I put it over the mouse.  He didn’t move. But I was, unfortunately, close enough that I could see him breathing.  Gaaaaaa!!!! (more shuddering).  Now what? The jar wasn’t really a very good idea, it was clear, so it didn’t block my view and now I had a mouse in a jar (except for his tail which was sticking out) in the middle of my kitchen.  You know what I need right about now?  I need a seven year old boy.  A child who is not going to have the slightest problem disposing of a dying mouse, a child who is in fact going to enjoy it because he can do something that his bag fat wuss of a mother CAN NOT make herself do, a child who has spent the last six weeks driving said mother up the wall but could now, finally, make himself useful.  Did I mention that that child had gone back to school?

So it was all on me.  I grabbed a magazine, one that I’ll never read, and after some deep breathing exercises, slid the magazine under the mouse (I’ll spare you the details of how it sort of shrugged and moved over but didn’t really try to get out of this very inefficient trap) and took it to the garbage (again, sparing you the details of how that day had been trash day so the can was empty so I heard the little little mouse body hit the bottom of the can and how I could barely stand to put things into the can for the rest of the week knowing that there was a body of a (by this point surely) dead mouse in the bottom of the can.) I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the experience.

Happy Monday.

10 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mother of the Wild Boys
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 10:22:01

    Eew! I think I’m having a sympathy panic attack!

  2. Flipflopmama
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 10:28:38


    I’m gonna say I wish I had never read this post. That was just disturbing. I’m sorry you had to do that. Reminds me of the time there was a rat in my house in college. I don’t think I’ll ever get over that either.

  3. smee
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 10:30:36

    i’m gagging a bit.

    I have that same dreadful panic inducing fear with any form of vermin. When hunky hubby couldn’t come home (from work three states away) I actually called a friend and asked him to drive 45 minutes to my house to kill an unknown entity hanging in my curtain. Some freak bug the size of my finger that kept changing colour…and yes, dear friend came running and chased said freak all over my house before he finally killed it. (and yes I am *really* shuddering rethinking this whole incident.)

    ugh. sympathies! Empathies! (is that a word?) eeeek!

  4. julie
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 10:46:23

    I have total sympathies about rodents in the house too. I would have called my dh about it too…yeah kids eating and feeding them..I know.

  5. cheryl
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 12:01:52

    We have a cat. Usually this means mice stay away because said cat likes to eat them. But the problem is he likes to play with them and then eat them. Usually, he’ll catch said mice outside in our yard before they come inside the house (good kitty!) and then bring them inside to show us and commence to play with the half-alive said mice (bad kitty!!). Many times said mice will get loose in the house and will dart to safe havens such as behind the TV, the piano, or under the Christmas tree (which is not up anymore –for some reason I felt the need to say this). Other times, we will awaken to dead mice or dead mice guts or dead mice bodies (he likes to eat the heads) in the living room.
    It’s so much fun!
    But because of the live mice thing, and because Brandon is out of town for school a lot, I end up catching said mice in cups with plates all the time. But they are not almost-dead, they are usually very-much-alive. I have, for the record, in the last two months, caught 4 live mice and taken them to the back fence. I hate it, but I do it.

    I am now your hero, eh? Next time you find a mouse, I’ll do my best to get up there and get it for you. 😉

  6. bythelbs
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 13:18:43

    Oh the trauma!

    P.S. I enjoyed reading this. So there.

  7. Migillicutty
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 17:22:54


    I couldn’t get within 10 feet of the thing. The fact that it’s dying would just make it worse ::shudder, shudder, shudder SHUDDER::


  8. Melanie J
    Feb 01, 2010 @ 18:34:29

    Um, yeah. I think that’s about how it would have gone at my house. I HATE rodents. Hate, hate, hate.

  9. E
    Feb 03, 2010 @ 18:30:39

    The only time I’ve ever considered getting a real pet is when we have a mouse and I think about getting a cat. And now after Cheryl’s response, I know that would actually make things worse and not better. So I never have to consider getting a cat again.

  10. Braden
    Feb 04, 2010 @ 09:43:58

    My sympathy! We lived in NYC for 3 years. There are something like 7 rodents for every human. All our neighbors had cats, I’m allergic. So, we got all of them on our block. I woke up one morning to find that during the night a mouse had crawled underneath me IN MY BED and I had slept on it all night. I suppose it was actually more unpleasant for it than me, but it was really unsettling.

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