There have been similar battles waged here over the past few months, ones that I have to admit I have more often than not been on the losing end of, more time spent as the Tom of this episode than the Jerry. This mouse may not knock my teeth out with a hammer or iron my tail but he’s been equally as bold and frustrating.
Bold is the key word. This mouse has no problem checking under the coffee table for crumbs as I lie on the couch, jumping into the sink to lick residual ice cream from a dirty bowl or putting a hole in the plastic around a loaf of bread to take a nibble.
He shows no fear of me and offers no respect. Frankly, I deserve none. I wake in the morning to find the food missing from any traps that I set, jump about a foot off the ground every time he scampers by and over the course of the summer the closest I came to causing him any distress was using the microwave as my bread box and smacking his ass with a fly swatter.
In the end I was victorious. I’ll spare you the details and the picture that I took in triumph but it involved a large popcorn bowl and a fair amount of luck. Everybody knows that for every mouse that you see there are ten that you don’t but in the week since his demise nobody has come looking as far as I can tell. My bread is unmolested, there are no more little poops on the kitchen counter. If he had friends they are keeping a lower profile.
Really, that is all that I’m looking for. I’ve fought these battles before, even once gave mouth to mouse resuscitation to an ailing enemy. Stay out of sight, come out at night to clean up my crumbs but leave my real food alone and keep a low profile. Don’t mess with me and I won’t mess with you.
I don’t ask anything more of the mice in my house than I do the kids. Pretend to fear and respect me and let me pretend to be in charge.
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Previously published on thirstydaddy.com
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