As I was typing the last post, I kept hearing a noise which I was going to blame on the Little Cat, who likes to lay on top of the heat register behind our love seat. Little Cat is a strange Diva, and she’s often found in some sort of demonic possession that involves her spinning in circles on her side, her back claws dug into the carpet to propel herself round-and-round…but I digress. It was a strange noise, and I even inquired of DH, “What IS that cat doing?” DH hadn’t really been paying attention, Man vs. Food was on, and he responded with a shake of his head, a smile and an “I’m not sure”.
No sooner had I begun the final touches on my post when I finally heard where the noises were coming from: the ceiling. Little Cat was apparently NOT demonically possessed… not yet anyway. Oh, Mice, how you torture me! I raised my fist to the ceiling, shaking it in fury, uttering, “DAMN YOU, you little Bastard!” I’d like to tell you that I made that all up, that I really didn’t shake my fist… but I did.
The moments stretched to minutes, the minutes into… well, five minutes. Yeah, I could only listen to the fast-stepped, tap-dancing that was happening above my head. I turned to DH and asked, “Do we have any traps?”
DH – “I could grab one from next to the dryer, but it’s been doing really well…”
Me – “No… we should leave that.” *sighs* “Surely we have to have more traps.”
*speaking paused as mouse makes another pass across the living room ceiling*
Me – “I would really like to get a trap up there…”
DH obliged me, retrieved a trap from the utility room and the step ladder and returned to scene (lest you all think I’m lazy, even standing on the step stool wouldn’t get me at an elevation where I could place the trap in a proper location in the ceiling). He popped a ceiling tile (the previous owners put a dropped ceiling in most of the house and we’ve not replaced it yet) and laid the trap. Climbing down the step ladder, he leaned in the doorway and turned to me with a grin, “I’m just gonna stand here and wait a few minutes…” The “es” in “minutes” was just leaving his lips when Gene Kelly decided to dance across the ceiling again, our eyes following the path, DH soon stepping under the sound, pointing at the perceived line of trajectory, stalking the prey.
I would like to know what ran through the mind of the mouse, as it’s path didn’t take the same route it had the dozen times before. We heard the “pause” as it noticed the trap, smelled the peanut butter, and then there were the tentative steps in the direction of the trap.
The faces of DH and I took on the quality of the Grinch when he devises his evil plan against the Whos in Who-ville, curled slightly at the corners, our eyes squinted and gleaming. The only thing lacking was maniacal laughter and rubbing our hands together in wicked satisfaction. Okay… there was the maniacal laughter on my part.
We held our breath in anticipation and, admittedly I think this is a new record for catching a mouse, within 45 seconds, our offending tap dancer was dispatched. I exclaimed my surprise, jumping in my seat and then laughing at DH, who also jumped at the sound. Little Cat and Fat Cat watched with eager anticipation, a bit of drool in the corner of Little Cats mouth… Oh, never mind about that, she drools all the time – especially when she sleeps (I have the same issue). Fat Cat refrained from running under DH’s feet as he opened up the step ladder and pushed the ceiling tile out of the way to retrieve the corpse. The tap dancer was disposed of, not in the gaping maw of Fat Cat, much to his disappointment, and the trap replaced.
This is not my first experience with tap-dancing mice. You see, I grew up in an old farmhouse, mice have a way of finding their way into a house when the weather starts to turn cold (a determined mouse only needs 1/4″ of space to fit through). I’ve had mice tap-dancing their way into tormenting my sleep for decades (this as produced many good stories). This isn’t to say that I don’t think mice are cute – they are. They’re cute in an “I don’t want them in my house” kind of way. I would also like to assure you that my house is clean and I don’t live in conditions that warrant me a spot on A&E’s Hoarders; I don’t like a lot of “stuff” around – I’m more minimalistic, thank you very much. Mice are just a way of life when you live in the sticks.
So, before you go calling PETA on me (which btw is a domestic terrorist organization), I would like to assure you that I endorse treating animals kindly and abhor animal abuse in all forms. I have some of the happiest damn chickens in the world (which….incidentally – chickens EAT mice, in case you didn’t know), Little Cat and Fat Cat are quite happy and healthy (from eating all those mice they get from the trap by the dryer) and Crazy Dog is 12 years old and is as insane as she was as a puppy (she also catches mice).
For those of you who are new to my blog, and are wondering about the Mice issue, see my first post about it here, Part 1: My Life with Mice – Channeling MacGyver
And… this morning the trap in the ceiling had caught another mouse…