Mouse Wars — Parts I and II
By STEPH TAHTINEN
Mt. Pleasant News
It is well established that I freak out when there is a mouse in the house. So, last week was an especially stressful week for me as I had not one, but two little furry friends invade my home. These are the tales.
Part I: Sunday, Nov. 6
At 1:15 a.m. I woke up to the sound of something scurrying. I sat up and focused on the scratching, which sounded like it was coming from my closet door. After turning on my bedroom light, I crept over to the closet and flipped on the light switch. I put down something to stand on, in case something came running out at me. I inched open the door and sure enough, there was a little gray mouse sitting right inside the door. I slammed the door shut and, heart racing, put on jeans and a sweatshirt and headed to Walmart at 1:30 a.m. for traps.
Hands shaking — a combination of being tired and terrified — I prepared my peanut butter death trap. I turned on the closet light and banged on the door to scare it away, but as I inched open the door, preparing to set the trap down and run, it was still sitting there. Mocking me.
Slamming the door shut, I left the trap on my bedroom floor in case it escaped during the night. I grabbed some blankets off my bed and slept on the loveseat in my living room. My trusty broom was propped up against the arm in case I needed it to defend myself in the middle of the night.
At 8 a.m. I called my parents for moral support. Because the invader was hiding during the day, I was able to get into my closet. I was panicking as I talked to Mom, throwing articles of clothing into my bedroom so I wouldn’t have to go into my closet for a few days. I remember crying that the mouse was holding my clothes hostage.
Dad had an absolutely brilliant idea of placing the trap inside of a paper bag so I wouldn’t have to touch either the mouse or trap. I just had to pick up the bag. I placed the trap and spent the day hiding in the living room.
I had someone come with me to check it later that night because I was not brave enough to do it myself. Thankfully, it was dead. I was shaking, but proud of myself, as I hauled my kill out to the dumpster.
Part II: Saturday, Nov. 12
About 6 a.m., a friend who was visiting for the weekend knocked on my bedroom door saying, “Steph, you have a little friend in that closet.”
I followed her into my second bedroom, where my “little friend” was making a racket rummaging in my recycling bin. I prepared a trap — I’ve gotten really good at this lately — and she slid it into the closet. We dragged the air mattress into my bedroom so she could get more sleep.
About 9 a.m., we got up and went to check the trap. It was gone, causing her to ask, rather colorfully, what in the world was in the closet while I bolted to the other side of the room, wishing I had something to climb up on.
She cleared out the closet in search of the missing trap and found the little guy still alive, cowering in the corner. It was not so little, actually. It was a full-grown mouse. Its front paw was caught in the trap, which it was dragging around the closet.
Using plastic bags as gloves and a sour cream container as a coffin, she plopped the mouse inside, snapped the lid on and put it in a plastic bag for me to haul out to the dumpster. I was so glad she was there. I could not have handled that by myself.
Thus ends my two-part mouse tale. I pray that there’s no need to write a part three.