Early this morning, I made a trip to the hardware store. I was a woman on a mission. I had reached under the sink for a roll of toilet paper the other day, and instead pulled something out that resembled a shredded white paper pom pom with a cardboard handle. The tiny black specks of poo around the perimeter confirmed my suspicion. A mouse had found it’s way beyond the faulty sink plumbing, past the toilet cleaner, and into a large eight-pack of fluffy white nesting material. A “one stop shop” for building it’s little rotovirus–ladened dream home. The slogan for Home Depot came to mind; “You can do it, I can help…little mouse“. This was the first time I had witnessed any sign of a rodent in here and I’m chalking it up to the recent upgrade of fancy TP I splurged on. The fancy kind that bears wipe their butts with in the woods. This is war, I thought.
The softie in me thinks mice are some of the most adorable creatures on earth. In middle school I even owned a pet rat named Snatch, that rode on my shoulder everywhere I went. He was a great pet, though I began feeling sorry for him when his nuts became so large they drug on the ground behind him when he walked. I wasn’t sure if this was normal, but this was long before the advent of Google you see, and the idea of a trip to the library to research rat nuts seemed ridiculous. I can imagine the look I would’ve received from the Reference Librarian. But I’m getting sidetracked here.
So there I was in the “kill” section. The area that contained every trap, spray, powder, cake, bag, fog and foam to kill anything that walks around with their back to the sun. I stood with this arsenal of weapons before me and felt terrible. I wanted the most humane way of getting rid of the buggers and nothing seemed right, until I saw the black box. “Kills instantly” it said. And I made my way to the register with my miniature electrocution chamber now sitting in my laundry room (seems they like paper towels too). It feels unfair to lure the little guys with their last meals of peanut butter. But the mice played dirty too. They shredded and pooped on my fancy woodland-bear-strength toilet paper. It’s payback time.