Tag Archives: mice

The Cold War: Man v. Mouse

I’m deep in the throws of a cold war and my enemy is a mouse.  His name is not Micky.

This morning I woke up to a frozen house, only to discover a mouse or possibly mice came in for some warmth.  They have a habit of nestling into the kitchen towel drawer.  I can’t really blame them.  It is the perfect place to settle down for a long winter’s night; however, my sympathy only runs so deep.

The Mice Chronicles - One woman's battle with a mouse

I freaked out, yelling about mice and not even drinking my cup of decaf coffee yet, and then I opened the next drawer.  Mr. Mouse chewed through the plastic top on the my can of cocoa.

I understand the need for a hit of chocolate.

My love for the stuff boarders on addiction, but I don’t share with my mice.  Heck, I even hide chocolate from my kids.  Share and share alike does not apply to anything that comes in dark and milk chocolate varieties.

And so the battle wages on.

I scooped up the pile of soiled dish towels and took them over to the washer.  when I poured in the laundry detergent, it fell out in thick globs.  Yup. It was cold.

When your laundry soap is next-to-near frozen, it’s time to move south and leave the house to the mice.

Now I am alternating between feelings of being completely grossed out and mad.  I mean, we’ve only had a few months of mouse free living.  When will these vermin learn that there’s no room in the inn?

So I march on to battle, but not alone.  I drafted FringeMan into my army and he’s in charge of all tactical moves.  The plan is total annihilation.  When it comes to mice, I don’t have a heart.  Sorry if that offends you.

Wish us luck.

For more mouse-capade reading, check out the following links.

It’s raining cats, dogs, and long-fanged mice.

Attacked by a Nutter-Butter Eating…

My Husband Didn’t Marry an Ax Murderer


What I Love is Sunshine

Welcome to What I Love Wednesday – Sunshine Edition.

In between hide and seek with the clouds, I think I actually got sunburn today.  That’s how marshmallow white I am.  With every day of foul weather, I resemble the Pillsbury Dough Boy more and more.  It’s time to set this gooey body in the sunshine and get deep-fried like a southern tomato.

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The other day FringeMan told me he thought an animal was living under our outside front steps.

“Why do you think that?”  I asked, saddened by the thought of yet another pest problem.

This winter I fought the mice and the mice I won.  Crown Fringeman me Domestic Rodent Eliminator.  Spring brought ants in my pants the house.  Now what are we to do with a porch dweller?

“Well, there’s a big hole going under the steps.  An animal must be burrowing.”  FringeMan explained.

I hung my head.  A two-legged animal in a pink polka-dot dress burrowed her horse farm into that hole.

Don’t fear the random skunk or mole, it’s the kids you need to trap!


What I love this Wednesday is SUNSHINE.

It’s good for my spirit.

Please join me over at Lollipops for What I Love Wednesday posts.

Attacked by a Nutter-Butter eating…

You remember my post from not too long ago when the FringeFamily was being stalked by a super-intelligent mouse with illusionist characteristics, don’t you?

If not read My Husband Didn’t Marry an Ax Murderer, but then come right back.  You really will need some background info on our rodent escapades.

About two days after the post where I vowed to go all ax-murderer crazy on the mouse, we caught him.  Sweet success.  Just to be certain he wasn’t running in a gang (I’m not sure how I know it was a he, but it was), we left the remaining traps lying around the house emitting tantalizing peanut aromas.  Nothing.

I danced around the house in relief.  All dreams of life-size rodents ceased.  No more scratching.  No more scardy-cat hearty-tacks.  No more mouse.  I lived in ignorant bliss.

Until today.

Sunday night in Awana, my daughter got a Nutter-Butter.  After one lick of the chocolaty coating, she rejected the snack and gave it to my son.  For reasons only known to pre-pubescent boys, he drops the pre-licked Nutter-Butter into his Awana bag.

Fast forward three days.

Last night, he threw the Awana bag on the floor in his room with just about every piece of clothing he owns, winter and summer.  Then he slept.

Today he comes running out in horror.  His Nutter-Butter was licked again, but this time from long-tailed, four-legged rodent, presumably a mouse.

I’m existing in a petrified stupor.  Please look at this hole chewed through the bag and tell me the culprit is a simple field mice.

I may need animal control to support me, but God helping me, I will get this beast, even if it costs a pack of Nutter-Butters.

My Husband Didn’t Marry An Ax Murderer

Mousecapades – Part One

When it comes to rodents, I don’t have a heart.  I know some of you catch and release, but quite frankly, the only way I want to see a mouse is dead.

Yes, I am evil.  Yes, I can be a little more humane.  Yes, I can see my need to be good to the mouse.

But I want the little sucker dead!

And can I speak to trap manufacturer’s for a quick second?

Glue is for school projects and broken glasses, NOT for rat traps.

I hate to admit this.  It’s not for the faint of heart, bleeding of heart, and definitely not for the ears of an animal rights activist.  Though Cats would probably applaud.

Consider yourself warned.

I once caught a mouse in a glue trap.  I pulled up a chair and watched its long tail struggle.  What do you do with a live mouse stuck on a pad of glue?

I definitely wasn’t touching the trap while he was alive.  The thought of letting him struggle for another eight hours until FringeMan returned made me a little weak in the knees.  As far as my limited experience with rodents could tell, there was only one thing to do – Kill the Varmint!

My husband didn’t marry an ax murderer and killing a mouse is a little different from killing a spider.  I have my limitations.  I won’t wear a shoe with mouse guts splattered on it!  I had no idea how to kill this mouse.

A hammer?  Too Ted Bundy.

A knife?  Too Jack the Ripper.

Suffocation?  Not with my pillow!

The shotgun?  Too Tim the Tool Man Taylor

I settled on Windex.

Shame welled up and flowed through my fingers as I typed W I N D E X.  I’m not proud, but please understand, I couldn’t sit and watch it suffer.  I may not have a bleeding heart, but it still beats.  There should be an extra warning label on bottles of glass cleaner – CAN BE HARMFUL TO RATS, MICE, & OTHER SMALL RODENTS.

You see why I am against glue, don’t you?

We didn’t use glue this time.  We used an honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned, break-their-neck trap.  FringeMan filled it with peanut butter and set it next to the mouse freeway, running directly behind my trash can and under my kitchen sink.

For three days I waited for the ominous CLICK.  Nothing.

This afternoon, I was standing at the counter doing something important like reading a blog when I heard a scratching sound.  At first, I figured it was the kids raking their pencil across a page, but I think I remembered, We Have A Mouse!  Turning quietly I spun on my heel and caught the little mighty mouse eating the peanut butter.  On the trap.  No click.  No snap.  No broken neck.

I did what any self-respecting blogger would do, I turned in search of my camera.  So FringeMan will know I’m telling the truth about the roving rat, I took a picture.  Sadly it came out a little dark.  The lighting isn’t so good under my counter, behind the trash, but that mouse just ignored me.  Imagine!  Now I’m not only skeeved because I have a mouse, but I’m getting downright angry.

He’s going to push me to use glue!

It’s not bad enough that we are basically giving our house guest free high-protein meals (he’s not allergic to peanuts thank God), but then I find out my daughter has been feeding him.  She leaves him Cheerios.  Sure enough two little O’s sit next to my front door welcoming every rodent on the block.

We are hospitable that way.

Game on!

Of Mice & Minimalism

The teenager within me was well on her way to being a hoarder, but I experienced an internal change about five years ago after many months of illness and a mass sell-off of all things once sacred.  Finally the repressed minimalist emerged fresh and free of materialistic baggage.  I now thrive on clear surfaces and peaceful rooms.

Unfortunately my children are still in their junk collecting stage, especially FringeBoy who hoards everything from rubber-bands to rocks.  (I refuse to mention FringePup in this post.)  If it weren’t for a good combination of nagging and bribery, he would still have his baby rattle tucked away in a dark corner of his closet.  To avoid my being institutionalized for obsessively trashing my children’s treasures, I only require they reorganize their clutter on a weekly basis; however, they must free our ‘common space’ of their junk every night.  I cannot relax in front of the television with a crowd of plastic women staring blanking in my direction, and I don’t enjoy having a Lego spaceship imprinted on the sole of my foot.  My children manage to clean-up approximately half their junk daily.  I consider that success.

The mouse on my mantle officially became a permanent piece of home decor when he was dusted in place.

Just because I enjoy clear surfaces does not mean I like to dust.  The mouse previously sat on this book, leaving a semi-slimy imprint.  Believe me, I’d rather he lounge on my mantle than IN my book.  As I sank into my chair the other evening, picking up my book on the way down, my fingers curled around a mushy object.  At first glance, only the tail was visibly hanging between the pages and my heart skipped a few beats.  It’s a medical fact that my heart beats to a slightly irregular rhythm; however, after the mouse shock it now pumps to the beat of a young drummer, FringeBoy.

After noticing the mouse print, I realized it was time to dust.  I also decided to junk-up my bedroom a little.  I want clean, but I really don’t want sterile.  If I keep my dresser top excessively clear, FringeMan may forget he has a wife.  For this reason, I pulled my jewels from the wall safe and threw them into some glassware.

What do think, should I keep the dresser bling?

I even balanced some junk on the other side, but I did clear some of it off since the picture.

I don’t want to give you the wrong  impression, I’m really not that clean.  My floors are usually a mess and I’ve give up on keeping order in the ‘construction’ zones of the house until all the plaster dust has finally settled, but there are a few rooms I like to stay neat.

I also added this Tweety-Bird cage to my room.  FringeMan found it in a trash pile and thought I might like it.  Isn’t he a sweet tweet?

I think it needs a retro looking handmade bird hanging from inside the cage, but that may be too corny.  I’ll need to wait for a corny flux in my hormones before I add the bird.

Now I’ll apologize for causing you to read an entire post of nothing but plastic jewelry and mushy mice.

I’m Sorry.

Thank you for all the participation in yesterday’s post.  It was fun and FringePup smells better…slightly.