On several occasions this fall, we’ve had a mouse siting in our house. The flip of the kitchen light allowed us to catch a glimpse of gray dashing around the kitchen counter toward escape down the stove.

A few weeks ago, Husband opened the junk drawer in the kitchen to get a flashlight. He found catsup packages (from trips through fast food drive throughs) that had been gnawed open and emptied (the soy sauce packets from the Chinese restaurants were untouched). Hearing this, I opened the cupboard below that drawer and found evidence of visitors (meaning there were going to be more dishes to do).

I was ready to put out a contract on the varmint when we discovered the bottom of a previously unopened bag of pecans had been tasted.  Have you priced pecans lately? How dare it!  As Husband dumped the nuts in the back yard, I considered  the squirrels may have been complicit in the thievery.

It was time for drastic action. Our live-trap on the kitchen floor was obviously being ignored by intended inhabitants. I suggested a better place would be on the counter (there was no “evidence” on the floor, but moving canisters showed a different result).

The next morning, Husband, the first downstairs, woke up Son by knocking on his door, “Come see what’s in the trap.”

“Did you catch one?” I asked.

“Nope!”

Two?”

“More.”

“Three?”

“Four.”

I went down and saw  four cute little mice looking back at me.

Husband told me, then that he thought he’d heard the trap go off early in the morning and then he thought he’d heard it again.

I found this incredible.

“You can’t hear me across a room and you the click of a trap up a flight of stairs and around two corners to our bedroom?”

Husband took care of our captives (don’t worry, we respect life) by transporting them far far away.

Still, we haven’t reached the Visit by St. Nicholas standard (“not a creature was stirring, not even…).

There have been additional sitings and evidence.

There was an “empty” margarine container that had been laying on its side on the counter waiting to be washed for recycling that became even emptier (licked the platter clean). And the can where we pour meat drippings that had been half full was now empty.

Great! It’s going to die of a heart attack.

Husband pointed out that my high fiber “healthy” bread has been on the counter all week without a nibble. (“Even the mouse won’t eat that stuff.”)

Since the last indicators of infiltration have been in the living room (rustling sounds late while Husband is watching TV or “presents” on a plate left on the couch by said Husband) the battle has moved to the living room.

Today I was informed that a different trap has been devised: a white bucket with a strip of cardboard across the diameter with a plate with margarine mounds on the edges.

I recall an aphorism that says “build a better mouse trap…”

If this works, well, I’m already counting the money.

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