Part IV of V: Mouse 3, Mom 0

These 5 installments come from e-mail I sent family and friends in October of 2003. They are written in present tense and other than names, I have altered nothing. To recap, I discovered I had a rodent living in my dash, my husband was out of town, in an irrational frenzy I tried to sell my mini-van before he got home, and am now setting multiple traps and am awaiting the demise of said rodent. This is my ongoing saga... woman vs. rodent-Bou

October 2003
He won. The Patron Saint of Mice must be looking after this little bugger. He got some bait, he chose my husband’s cheese over my peanut butter and sunflower seed, tripped the trap, but got away. We’re at war now. My husband thinks the trap tripped itself and the mouse is gone. I know he’s in denial. Been there, done that. I know better. The mouse is there, waiting for nightfall so he can continue to chew through the foam in my seats and gnaw at my wiring. I realize at this point that the mouse has a cheering section now. Yes, I have received e-mail that some of you are now cheering for the mouse. You must know, he is going to die. I am taking extra steps….

Today I called Toyota. Luckily my favorite service guy, who has become a kindred spirit of mine over the years, was available. He has helped me through all sorts of jams from my calling him from my garage so he could listen via phone to some funky start up noise my car was making to the time my kids used my CD player as a juke box and filled it with 16 cents in change. I get hold of Steve and tell him what my problem is and ask him if there is anything he can do. He is speechless and says, “D., there is nothing I can do until you get it out of there. I would fog it out.” I tell him that is not going to happen; I don’t want to take any chances that the daggum thing might die in there. So he starts openly consulting the mechanics and service attendants around him. I can hear them all through the phone. Laughing. Someone yells, she needs a rat trap and he yells back, “She did that.” Another guys says, “Yes… but did she use bacon?” Steve gets back on and says, “Use bacon. You know how we love bacon, well they do too.” Since when did we start to relate to rodents??? I thank him and tell him I’ll see him in a couple days as I know that the ne’er do well has eaten not only through the wires of my “Open Door Indicator” light, but also he’s munched on some stereo and speaker wires. No telling what else he’s eaten.

I decide I need MORE mouse traps as well as bacon. I’m in line at Publix and I see my favorite cashier, Barbara. We start to talk and I tell her about the mouse. It just so happens that the bag boy/man knows something about trapping and tells me I need to take a fire to the bacon in my car so it smells like bacon throughout the car, before I wrap it tightly to the trap. This ‘wrapping tightly to the trap’ thing seems to be a common sentiment. One of the mechs at Toyota said the same thing. I don’t want him feasting yet again and not getting trapped. I guess I want him to wrestle with it to his untimely death. Tonight I will cook a little bacon in my car. Yes, I am resorting to that. I am ignoring the bag boy/man’s thought that I have a rat instead of a mouse. Heavily accented, I have no clue where he’s from, I get from him, “Ohhh myyy, ‘e eez eateeng your seats? You ‘ave a rat, not a mouse. Deese eez a rat problem.” Great.

Meanwhile I have told my boys. You are thinking, “Why?!” Well I had to tell my carpool neighbor. I can’t haul all the kids in the truck. (I am no longer driving my van.) I can’t carpool until I kill this thing. I told everyone at my Auction dinner table on Saturday night because, let’s face it, it makes a damn funny story and there was great laughter. I’ve sent out an e-mail. My kids are going to hear about it eventually. So I told them. Son#3 is a pain in my neck and must take after my sister, Morrigan. He now walks into the garage and sniffs the air and says things like, “Hmm, I smell mouse poop. That must be coming from the car.” Trust me, there is no smell of mouse poop in my garage.

And for those of you who knew I was having lingering feelings of ‘ick’ about killing a mammal or rather, openly plotting to kill a mammal, those feelings are gone. He dies. Tonight. Let’s just hope he is not a ‘she’ and isn’t having babies in my dash. –D.