A Late Night Game of Cat & Mouse…Just for Kicks


Image via Martha Stewart

True story…

So…I’ve never had mice in my house before, at least not that I’ve ever noticed.  My home was built 8 years ago, so it’s somewhat “newer”, but it appears there are plenty of holes and cracks and so on for these little critters to get in.  Yuck.

Here’s how it all started….

Last Friday, hubby noticed tiny little slivers of poop under our kitchen sink that sure as heck didn’t belong to me!  Therefore, our next obvious conclusion was that we had some new itty-bitty guests vacationing under our sink.  I was appalled.  Yes, appalled.  Those little stinkers chewed right through our bags of puppy treats and *gasp* a tube of puppy tooth paste under the sink.  Ruthless.

While I am entirely disgusted, my husband is thrilled at the idea of catching mice, so he rushes to Wally World for some mouse traps.  Ah yes, the allure of the hunt is most definitely a guy thing.  Well, the first night we caught two mice.  They were fat, well-fed mice, which = extra gross.  Night two, we go out of town.  Upon our return, we discover that we have caught three more mice, much to my husband’s delight and my own angst.  Night three, we catch yet another three mice.  That’s EIGHT mice under our kitchen sink in THREE days!  Nasty stuff.

Nights four and five…nothing.  Ron is slightly bummed but continues to check the traps with high hopes.  I am relieved thinking they are finally gone.

Night six (last night), we are sitting in the living room watching Master Chef, and we hear a mouse trap snap.  You guessed it, mouse #9 is our next vacated guest from under the kitchen sink.  So, here’s where it takes a turn for the dramatic…

12:30 a.m. – I can’t sleep for some bizarre reason, so I go downstairs to read.  While sitting in the chair reading, out of the corner of my eye, I see a tiny gray streak flash across the carpet.  I seriously had to ask myself if I was seeing things, praying that it was not another mouse, but knowing full well that it was.

So I jump up, and sure enough, a mouse shot back across the carpet into the bathroom.  I got up and slowly opened the door, cautiously peering behind the door and around the bathroom, and there was just a teeny-tiny mouse hiding behind the toilet looking straight at me.  No really, we made eye contact.  I have no idea what I thought I would accomplish by doing this, but I leaned in closer to look at him hiding behind the toilet.

I looked to the right around the toilet, and he scurried to the left.  I looked to the left around the toilet, and he scurried to the right, and back and forth we went like a ping pong match…each time stopping for a brief moment to look straight into each other’s eyes.  It was like a Wild West dual, less the gun slinging (of course).

Realizing that the situation was going nowhere fast, I slowly closed the door and grabbed a blanket to cover the crack under the door, so he couldn’t get out.  Then, I ran upstairs to get Ron, and this is how that went down:

Me: Ron, there’s a mouse in the bathroom!

(Not happy about being woken up)
Ron: So?

Me: Come look at him.

Ron: Why?  What am I supposed to do?Me: Just come look.  He’s in the bathroom.

Ron: No

SO….after that productive exchange, I ran back down to the kitchen to grab a bowl to cover the mouse and trap him.  Stupid idea.  Ever tried to catch a mouse with a bowl?  I repeat, stupid idea.  That little rascal was far too quick (as mice tend to be).  Besides, let’s say I was actually able to “put a bowl over him”, then what?  Do I just leave it there in the middle of my bathroom?  Stupid idea.

Upon realizing said stupid idea, I shut the door again, put the blanket in place and ran for a mouse trap, which I coyly slipped into the bathroom (notice the amount of running I’m doing here – that would be pure adrenaline, gang), put the blanket back in place so he couldn’t slip out under the door, and decided to call it a night.

Then, I decided to finally go back to bed, and my conversation with my husband goes like this…

Ron: Did you catch him? (You see, once he had time to think about it, he was intrigued.  It’s the hunt thing.)

Me: Well…(then, I blah-blahed about setting the trap and gave him the above recap)

Ron: Oh.

Me: Oh yeah, it’s definitely on.

The End.

As of now, it is 2:30 a.m., and I am clearly wide awake typing this ridiculous story to you all.  I will check the bathroom in the morning.  Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion…


Ron: Hey Nik, wake up!  Come downstairs.

Me: Why?

Ron: Just come. (See how we just switched roles there.  We’re such nerds.)

Turns out that smart, little trouble maker was not lured in by the peanut butter laden mouse trap.  Instead, he climbed into our garbage basket during the night and got stuck there (even better than the bowl technique, yes?)….


Ron asked what we should do with him, and I said “Let’s set him free,” followed by the above photo op of the captivity.  I told you it was a true story!  I’ll admit that my husband was not in favor of this course of action (being that it was a “rodent” and all), but since it was MY mouse, he agreed.  AND because I love happy endings, I ran out into the freezing, wet cold, pitch dark morning in my jammies with my garbage basket in tow and set the little fellow free…in my neighbor’s yard.  I said, “All right, little guy, you better not come back,” and he nodded with deep understanding.  Okay, I’m just kidding about that part, but I did set him free, and I watched him scurry down the dark, lonely street (I promised it would be a dramatic ending).

The End…I hope!


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