I Am So DONE with Mickey

I used to think they were cute, but now, I feel like that old lady in Ratatouille maniacally shooting her ceiling with a shotgun. Where can I get me one of those? Because I am so there.

So, now that the walls are open, it is a free-for-all for the garage dwelling mice. On Friday night, I was sitting on the couch, watching TV while the Man was microwaving something for dinner, and a see a flash of brown. Under the TV stand, I see the little bastard and his tail. I yell, "the son of a bitch is under the TV!" It then runs under the book case and at this point, I stand up, unable to sit on the couch knowing it's probably underneath me, waiting to crawl up my leg. Husband comes back and tells me he put a trap in the corner because he saw him earlier but figured better not tell me about it. And that I should just sit down and make sure I keep my feet off the floor. Such nonchalance. There is a f*@%(^$g mouse in the room with me and I'm supposed to just sit and watch TV like he's not there?

Right.

I stood there, motionless, in the middle of the room, for about 15 minutes, waiting for the mouse to make a move. I finally resign (since standing there was getting a little old) to sitting just so that the mouse might run to a different spot. He does. Runs to the closet (I saw him in the reflection of the patio sliding doors). At one point I turned around and looked back at the closet door and the thing was looking right at me, half his body in the coat closet, the other half out. I literally yelled at it, "Get the hell back into that closet!" I was in a state of ridiculous, people.

You are probably wondering why we didn't go after him in the closet which has no "exit" other than the one door. Well, the closet has holes in the drywall, just above the baseboards, to help air out the wetness that resulted from the slab leak, so he would just escape under the staircase. We are at a disadvantage, folks. He finally ran into my office; 30 minutes later, he ran into the living room at which point I lost track of him (It might be a her, but I'm annoyed with them so they are all "he").

I have no idea how many we have. That evening, we set one trap with cheese danish (couldn't locate the peanut butter), and he ate it all without setting off the trap! The next evening, Saturday, I pulled out the peanut butter, and we set 3 traps. He cleaned them all off without getting caught. Sunday, I bought glue traps. We put one in the garage since I saw one on the power-washer around 7pm while I was doing laundry. About 2 hours later, it also had been cleaned off, and he had left a couple of his hairs on it. What kind of freakin' mouse is this? Super mouse? Mensa Mouse? Jesus, Mary, and also Joseph. Last night, we went to the blue cheese option. Set about 14 million traps. Ok, I exaggerate. Ten traps is accurate. This morning I found that he had cleaned off one, and on another, ate half the cheese (clearly, he knows exactly how to deal with these traps so as not to set them off), the rest were untouched.

We did, however, have one small victory (I hate saying it that way, calling his death a victory, but, like I said, I am SO OVER THESE MICE). I got an email from the Husband that said we got one in the garage with one of those old-school wooden traps baited with blue cheese. I have no idea if it's the Rhodes Scholar mouse or a regular-intelligence mouse that doesn't have the ability to skirt every human-engineered mouse trap. I am hoping it's the smart one who definitely scored 1500 on his SATs, that way if there are any others, they should be easier to get. Unless they are related to him. [Sigh]

And if you are reading this through an RSS reader thingy, sorry for all the edits/re-posts but I keep finding typos and I CAN'T HELP MYSELF. Had to fix them.