A Mouse In My House

We have an uninvited house guest. We have quite a few of them actually, and I normally enjoy co-existing, but not when my guest is using my utensil drawer as a bathroom! It started in June, 2008. I reach into the drawer half asleep for a spoon for my son's breakfast, and I barely notice them... little mouse poos. Never had mice before, but then again, I have also never lived without a cat before. I'm not a big dramatic reacter to these things. I don't really mind sharing my space with critters. Most of them are either helpful or stay out of my way, and that's fine. But it didn't take me long to become aggravated with the extra cleaning my little furry friend was causing. Those who know me know that cleaning just isn't my thing. I have learned over the years to sort of meet my neat freak husband halfway, (OK to me it feels like three/quarters), but I take no pride or joy in cleanliness. I know, its very unmotherly of me. I just don't care.

But even before I became aggravated with the extra cleaning... something else joined the party. Yes, my little furry friend came with his or her own set of unwanted visitors. I am referring to the fleas that leaped from poor fuzzy mousie to my couch, and then nipped at my ankles for three days. Now fleas I can recognize. Its been a while since I've had a cat, but one never really forgets what that battle is like. Luckily, there was nothing really hairy enough to keep them here, but it added to the issue.

My point really, is that my furry little visitor has taught me some unexpected things. The most striking is that, while I recognize that my husband and I do not often agree on what I think are some pretty important issues, I hadn't realized how fundamentally differently we view life in general... that is, until now. When I finally came to the conclusion that I must find my little friend a new home, I went searching for some catch and release type contraptions, and loaded one each with pumpkin seed butter and soy nut butter, (we don't have peanut butter in the house and I wasn't sure what my little mousie might like best). I'm also not really sure how many mice there are. Anyway, my husband tripped them, not knowing what they were, so I showed him. He asked why I didn't just get the old fashioned snappy trappy kind of thing, to which I responded, "Well I'm not going to kill them just for being mice!" This thought had never occurred to him, and for the first time in a long time he was quiet... thoughtful. I didn't understand how differently we thought about life, and the world, until this moment. He had never thought of it that way, and I had never thought of it any other way. Its kind of presumptuous and cruel of me to kill the little guy just for following his instincts and looking out for himself. I would just prefer she didn't poo in my utensil drawer, so I will find her someplace else to live. My husband, on the other hand, views this much more territorially. My house. My food. Grunt! Hunt! Kill! I think I got through to him, and I think I caught a mouse tonight, so I better get on to finding that perfect little rodent sanctuary...

Update: 9 months later, I have relocated 14 furry little friends to a farm a good distance away, and sealed two holes in the basement. I hope I am finished, but there are a lot of cracks in this 108 year old house. It may go on forever... and ever... and ever...

PS: Mice do not seem to care whether they eat pumpkin seed butter or soy nut butter, so I now offer them the cheap stuff.