Mouse in the House

Clearly, Dr. Seuss did not ever struggle with actual rodents invading his living space. No person could fight that battle and find it fun to make rhymes about such events. Lest my readers think I’m overly dramatic about such events, perhaps some history lessons would help. Here are some of my animal encounters. Let’s see, there was the bat in the living room, the time that I thought there was  dead possum under the deck, the time that there was actually a dead possum under the deck (and a dead squirrel on the stairs…and in the trash can), and the epic mouse battle of 2009.

And, now the mice are back. I suspected as much two nights ago when I heard noises from behind the coat tree in the dining room and then had to coax the dog away from that corner where he had his nose planted up against the coat rack. Then, last night the noises returned behind the coat tree and seemed to then move into the living room under the love seat, which is entirely too close for comfort, especially after someone at work told me about the time that a mouse ran up her pant leg and bit her while she squeezed it to death. She’s a very truthful individual; she was not reciting an urban legend.

Today, I went to Walmart and stocked up on traps. I got some of those nifty little ones that trap the mouse and keep it dead in a little black disk, so I don’t even have to see it. That’s my first line of defense, but I’ve got two back up plans if they fail. I’m so freaked out though now that I’ve been on the shopping excursion because there was a rat trap. It was so big, and this mouse is so noisy. My imagination took of like an Olympic 100 yard dash runner, and I could just picture having to deal with a rat the size of a small household cat.

I hope the mouse dies soon. It’s causing tension between the dog and I. I’ve told him about 10 times to get out of the dining room, so the mouse will come out and go into the trap. Deogi got miffed about that and went upstairs. Of course, he thought he was being all sly in coming back down and slinking into the dining room 5 minutes later as if I couldn’t hear  the bottom five stairs creaking.

If he could talk, here’s the conversation we would have had two nights ago:

Me: Deogi, it’s time for bed.

Deogi: I’m staring at the coat rack.

Me: Deogi, stop.

Deogi: I don’t hear you.

Me: Let’s go to bed.

Deogi: I’m staring at the coat rack.

Me: Bed. Now.

Deogi: You hear me.

Deogi: I’m staring at the coat rack.


Deogi: Fine

And, here’s how the conversation would have gone last night while he was on the couch next to me, staring intently at the middle of the living room floor.

Me: What are you staring at?

Deogi: I’m concentrating.

Me: Seriously, your eyes are bugging out of your head. You’re freaking me out.

Deogi: Freaking you out?

Me: Yes.

Deogi: You’re the fruit loop here. You’re the one whose been moving your laptop stand and power cord around for the past 30 minutes like it’s under attack.

Me: I feed you.

Deogi: I know, but you’re still annoying me with your paranoia.

Me: Well, you’re confirming my paranoia by staring at the floor.

Deogi: Stop worrying. I’ll eat the mouse.

Me: You’ll get rabies or the bubonic plague.

Deogi: It will taste good.