The Mouse is in the House

Jim Hartsell, the Ancient Sex Symbol, is once again gracing the blog with his homespun wisdom.

So, I was sitting at my desk writing an email when I heard a noise to my left. I looked and there, perched on an old keyboard from three computers ago, was a mouse watching me work. He (I have no evidence to support the gender assignment, so I’m using my own as a reference) and I stared at each other for a bit and when I moved he scurried away.

I found the live trap and baited it with peanut butter. When I returned he was in the family room under the loveseat and one of our cats was circling the furniture. The mouse made a run for it and ended up in the corner behind the floor lamp. I set the trap, placed it along one of the baseboards, and approached him from along the other one. He held his ground for a moment and then took off, running into the live trap.

And out the other end. The lever that was supposed to swing up to drop the doors on each end of the trap was wedged securely against the wall, right where I had placed it.

After several more minutes and three other hiding places, he ended up back in the study, once again in a corner. I told Gypsy (the cat) that I had him this time and she could leave. I reset the trap, placing it at enough of an angle to allow it to work properly, and persuaded the mouse to enter.

When I took him outside away from the house down to the edge of the woods and turned the trap upside down freeing him, he took a few steps out and stopped. He turned and looked up at me like, “What the hell? I was warm, dry, and not bothering you in the slightest. Some host you are!” I prodded him with my shoe and he eventually left, slowly and somewhat resentfully. I can only hope that he told all his friends and relatives what a lousy host I was.

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