The Intruder

We have a mouse in the house.

We get one or two a year. Our house is surrounded by woods and pasture. The pasture is field mouse habitat. When the weather gets cold, they don't like their home. They prefer the warmth of ours.

I am usually the one to make the discovery that we have an intruder. I'll be enjoying a cup of coffee before daybreak when a small form makes a mad dash from under the T.V. to under the couch, then onward to the kitchen. I give chase, but my foot speed has been somewhat diminished by the passage of time.

I'll make a report to the lady of the house. A few days may go by in the interlude from discovery to report. A rattlesnake in the house creates a certain sense of urgency. A mouse is hardly worth consideration.

The Redhead does not share my tolerance. She has a merciful heart, but it does not extend to fur-bearing nocturnal critters. In spite of my best efforts, she remains a steadfast city-girl. Her philosophy is that the outdoors should stay outdoors. She once walked out on our back porch and yelled at a mockingbird--told him to "shut up."

I could take care of the of the situation with a simple spring trap. A little peanut butter on the trigger mechanism and snap--no more mouse. But the Redhead views this method as inhumane (I told you she had a merciful heart). She prefers the "sticky" trap, a fly-paper type device that the mouse steps on and becomes hopelessly affixed to. How that is more humane is debatable in my view, but I learned a long time ago to pick my battles. Mouse removal didn't make the list.

Our current visitor has escaped capture for a week. The Redhead encountered him in the utility room two days ago. With broom in hand she tried to swat him. But this is apparently no ordinary ignorant country field mouse. Although trapped in a confined space, he evaded her with all the cunning of Cool Hand Luke. At one point he even shimmied up an electric cord, like a man climbing a rope. I was surprised when she told me the story. I expected horror, but she actually laughed.

Last night she informed me that there was a little tuft of fur in the invincable sticky trap. She laughed again.

I told her that I'd stop by and pick up a spring trap this weekend.

She said "No, no, that's OK."

I think she's beginning to like the little guy--admire his cleverness.

There may be still be hope that I can transform this woman into a country girl.

Nah...