stuart little they ain't

Ok so as previously mentioned, we have mice. This was kind of inevitable situation because we live in the country and have a scary basement.

First things first. I. Don't. Like. Mice. Something about they way they scurry around creeps me out. And they thought of their furry little feet scurrying over my previously clean dishes makes me want to yurk.

So the first mouse poo I found I could reasonably explain away. Probably been there forever, must have missed it in the initial cabinet cleaning when we moved in. Then they mousy poo began to multiply. And I had to come to the paralyzing realization. We have mice.

Phase 1: Freak out, starting hearing phantom mouse noises at every turn.

Phase 2: Called the Orkin man right away, was hoping for the helpful cheerful guy from the commercials. No such luck. I got surly and condescending guy who poked around for a while and said we would have to get a new garage door and completely organize the closets in the bedrooms (no where near the site of mouse activity) before they could even think of coming back and doing us the favor of charging us $700 to put traps down. And no, they don't come back to take away mouse laden traps.

Phase 3: Screw Orkin, traps cost 72 cents at Walmart.

Phase 4: Get physically ill thinking about removing mice from traps.

Phase 5: Clean out cupboard and find source of mousy bonanza. Apparently they like to sample all the wares on an establishment before settling on the most messy option, in this case a bag of flour.

Phase 6: Wishing I had stock in Lysol, I head to the Mart to stock up and also get large Tupperware containers in which to store the entire contents of my kitchen cabinets. Note the above mentioned dread of the thought of mousy feet and therefore mousy poo on things I might eat off of.

Phase 7: Actually see dreaded creature in kitchen. Faithful dog is laid out across the dining room at the time, also sees mouse. He cocks an ear, doesn't bother to get up and huffs the dog equivalent of "Huh, would you look at that" and lays his head, which was the only thing that moved even slightly, back down. Curse my allergy to cats and consider just living in Benadryl induced comas after trading in useless dog for a cat. Maybe in said coma, I wouldn't be aware of the presence of mice.

Phase 8: Become nearly paralyzed with fear of having another near-mouse encounter while cleaning the kitchen. Consider burning the house down and starting over again.

Phase 9: Beg mostly patient though entirely mocking husband to do things like stomp around in the kitchen before I go in there to move things around, and accompany me to the basement, of course going first, to do laundry. Dog has already proved useless.

Phase 10: Decide we don't ever really need to eat in our house again. Ala Monk, it is contaminated and can never be restored.

Phase 11: Patience blown, husband explains why eating out every meal is not a good idea using phrases like "morbid obesity" "poor house" "sell plasma" etc.

Phase 12: Second mousy sighting, this time in dining room, leaping off the thankfully closed Tupperware containing plates. I think the plates are what they are really after, I don't know why. Maybe they are attracted to the stylish yet durable design.

Phase 13: Gird whatever needs to be girded and set out traps. This is ridiculous, this is my house, they have got to go. I am woman, hear me roar. Tearfully beg husband to remove any traps that should be successful.

Phase 14: Set out 4 traps baited with peanut butter. Place traps in plastic bags for easy disposal. Set up baby gate to prevent useless dog from springing traps. Useless dog stands at the gate and cries for 20 minutes because he doesn't understand why I would be so cruel as to put peanut butter on the floor and then keep him from it.

Phase 15: Go to bed simultaneously anticipating and dreading the THACK of a mouse trap in action. Next morning, call out from bedroom, farthest point in the house from kitchen for a report on the success of mouse traps. NADA. Go in investigate myself. Sure enough not a single trap disturbed. Feel a that a mouse in chuckling and giving me a furry finger from some undisclosed corner.

I think I'm going to try a cornflake stuck to the peanut butter on the traps next.

Perhaps I should also place the traps on a stylish yet durable plate.