the perfect mouse trap

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My mouse situation has been out of hand, yet I balk at the idea of glue traps. Gluing a rodent to a piece of tacky paper and watching him writhe to free himself as I deposit his still conscious body into a local Rubbermaid can, no thanks.
But the regular rapid-fire-arm-of-doom trap, it doesn’t work. My mice are foxy, sly, sneakers of bait who grab and run unscathed back into their homes where they proceed to feed my expensive cheese to their brood, the one that will grow and infest me further.
So, short story made long, I found the answer.
Don’t you love the name Elmer? What a great name, one I’ve been accustomed to my entire school career.
And I happen to have a sentimental bottle of the stuff, Elmer’s school glue, in my laundry room, where mice scamper free knowing I can’t catch them.
I used Elmer and his glue; I squirted him copiously across the regular-mouse-trap channel and attached a blueberry to the glistening puddle of glue.
On the second trap I glued a piece of cheese.
I like science; this is science. Which does a mouse prefer, and how long will he linger, tugging at the forbidden fruit/cheese before giving up/having his spine broken/getting metallically addled by a quick moving steel bar from up high?
Well. Science has proven a worthy mistress. She has shown me that between her and Elmer, two mice can be handily caught and quickly put out of my misery before the sun has set.
HA! to the mouse, I say. Ha! …. And I’m really sorry.
It was you or me, Mice, you or me.
I’ve reset new traps again using a combo of blueberry and cheese and I sit waiting impatiently for the telltale snap.
HA! to you, sir mouse!
Ha! I say.
Ha.
Wait.
I feel bad about this …
Poor mice.

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so many creatures stirring

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It’s fall and mice are abundant in the prairies of the Out There, but they particularly love my kitchen.
While sitting on the couch Friday night, I heard feet, briskly moving to and fro and to again, as I counted heads and realized that no foot rustling should be heard. All the dogs were parked on the couch with me, and sadly, they too were staring blankly toward the kitchen, waiting for something to pop out. Not exactly hunters, these dogs.
At first, peanut butter on the typical mouse trap worked. I caught half a dozen and threw the carcasses in the trash each morning.
Now, peanut butter doesn’t work. These rodents are like Mission Impossible creatures, stealthily sneaking away unscathed with sweet treats for the family “back home”, which is … somewhere else in the house I don’t have the energy to ferret out today.
Last night, I tried cheese, the tried and true. I squished a lump of it into each of the crevasses designed to house such goodies, set the traps, and awaited the tell tale clatter of guillotined mouse bits.
Usually the trapping occurs in the wee hours of dawn and I always hear it. I’m a light sleeper, probably because I have visions of awaking to rodent eyeballs peering at me from my chest as I sleep.
This morning I had heard nothing, which told me the lure didn’t work, or the lure worked fine but the dime store trap was slow on the uptake.
Yes. I need new traps. Traps with a hair trigger response to any tiny mammalian paws reaching toward them, traps with a fine wire that once breached by mouse noses never fails to clap shut and end the voracious appetites, one tummy at a time.
No cheese, no dead mouse, and a lot of tittering enjoyment coming from the walls.
My hope is that at least I’m fattening the mice, slowing them down, beefing them up to look like the adorable fat brown, half-shirted mouse of Pixar’s “Ratatouille”. That’s one mouse I feel sure I could catch, even with these awful traps.
Sure, I’d cry and feel bad, because the little guy had a half-shirt. Clothes on mice raises their cuteness factor exponentially, any Disney artist can tell you that. But I’d still trap him and send him away with a proper disposal in a local Hefty and force his cuteness to leave my kitchen be.
Kudos to you, Mice Between My Walls, but I haven’t given up just yet. Your days are numbered. With my luck, you have quite a few to enjoy, but my optimistic side hopes to give you only one, maybe two.
I’m off to the not-dime store to see what real traps look like. Well, the traps that don’t look remarkably similar to cats.

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Friday: written in the cards

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The Library of the Out There is a fabulous place featuring a monthly Ladies’ Night Extravaganza. This month’s featured activity: writing Christmas cards for Veterans in hospitals country wide, an activity begun by a delightful sprite of a lady, Ashley, whose heart is four times the size of her whole self.
Her organization is The Art of Encouragement — should you feel inclined to investigate further, please click here ———> www.theartofencouragement.vpweb.com.
After watching a heart rending video about a Veteran at the end of his rope a Veteran’s journey, and the impact that encouraging words had on his soul, we put together our Cricut and card stock and glue sticks and crafted beautiful greetings for other Vets like him so that they too would know their sacrifices are so greatly appreciated
As a group, we sent Ms. Ashley home with around seventy cards for soldiers that evening.
Friday night, I made and signed seventy-two more while watching Netflix.
It was a great night, one I hope to repeat, until I have three or four hundred envelopes to add to the outgoing mail.
Plus, I’m catching up on my Netflix queue. Bonus!

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