Like the Monty Python boys say, "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition." No, wait, I mean, "And now for something completely different."
Today's guest post is from MamaGrizzly, a lovely girl who has the ability to make me smile or laugh every time I see her on twitter, and she didn't disappoint with this post. Check out her blog, to see how she navigates her life with two littles.
We have some visitors. I suppose the ever more chilling weather has something to do with it. And let me just say, they are unwelcome visitors. More than once have I reverted to childhood as a mouse scurried across the floor. By this I mean screaming like a little girl and jumping on top of the nearest object.
I'm not sure why I scream. Does it really make the mouse scurry away faster? Or perhaps he might say, "Good heavens! There is a crazy, screaming madwoman on the loose! Let us pack our bags and vacate the premises!" (Don't ask me why, but Sir Mouse has a British accent in my head.)
Well. We decided we were going to have to force our visitors to leave, much like we would certain family members upon their lingering for an overly extended period of time. (Which reminds me - are there big mouse traps for people? Well, that's another blog post entirely.) Of course, the traditional mouse traps just seemed too... well, messy and mean. And though I certainly cannot stand our furry little tenants, I hate to imagine the sight of their squirmy little bodies caught in on of those evil mouse traps. (It's not supposed to make sense so don't ask why.)
We found a nice alternative: glue traps.
Lo and behold, we came home after work the other night, checked behind the fridge, and we'd caught a furry friend! Excitement ensued. One down, ?? more to go! Soon we shall have our home back to ourselves!!
And then my husband pulled a Wal-Mart bag out of the cupboard.
"Wait, what are you doing?" I demanded anxiously. "You're not putting him in that bag, are you?! He's still alive, isn't he?!"
He gave me a withering look. "I'm going to put him in the bag and throw him in the trash can. That's what he gets for coming in MY house."
"What!" I was absolutely horrified at the prospect. "But he'll suffer and suffocate and DIE! You can't do that! That's God's creature!" (Yes. I'll admit it. I'm horribly dramatic, and I shamelessly pulled out the God-guilt card. Harsh, perhaps, but usually quite effective. As it was in this particular instance.)
"Baby," (this is what he says to me when he's channelling his patience and about to explain why I'm being utterly ridiculous) "there's no way to get him off the glue trap."
"That's not true! There's got to be a way to get him off!" And then, as any smartphone user immediately does, "I'm going to Google it!" (May I point out how very much I appreciate that Google has become a verb.)
Google triumphs yet again! Hurray Internet! Did you know vegetable oil will get a mouse loose from a glue trap? Well, now you do! And the website even gave me detailed step-by-step instructions as to how to do so. Perfect!
I excitedly showed my husband the results. His shoulders fell. Defeat! "Fine. Where am I taking him?"
We found a massive cardboard box, big enough to ship a dozen toddlers, and set the mouse and trap inside. He then proceeded to carry mouse AND box AND vegetable oil out to the car. We agreed that he should drive down the road some distance to a vacant field. Of course, my almost three year old toddler (who shares my sick fascination with these things) demanded to see the mouse before he moved out. I have to say, if you ignore the food-nibbling, poop-dropping aspect of having mice inhabitants, they are quite cute. At least much cuter than the red-eyed white lab rats seen on TV.
Life went on as normal. I immediately began preparing dinner (random side note: chicken parmesan, mmm!). By the time he returned, I was washing the table off. "Did you get the picture?" he asked. Of course I hadn't. But wouldn't you know that little critter got himself loose and scurried away! (Scurry is my new favorite word.) Granted, he took to hiding under the car, and my husband had to SCARE him away, BUT the point is, we saved a life! I'm quite proud of that accomplishment. Hubby even drove out closer to the beach, further away from houses, so that other homeowners might be safe from an invasion.
But there is still a problem. As we were freeing Mickey (we'll assume he's a boy) from behind the fridge, Minnie (we'll assume she's a girl - it's more romantic that way) came skittering out, across the kitchen, and under the dryer.
Le sigh. It is not over yet.