Of Mice and Mayhem

Wednesday morning (the infamous 9-11) I got ambitious enough to make eggs and bacon for breakfast.  Just for a change of pace, I scrambled the eggs in my small, cast iron skillet.  I inherited this from my great-uncle Clyde, who used it every morning during the depression.

Clyde was a bachelor, preferring the hell of his own making over the excruciating torment delightfully brought on by his one big mistake in life.  The man was content to live alone, and by all accounts was happiest that way.

After breakfast I went out to run some errand or other, and when I returned what should I find?  A nice, big field mouse helping itself to the leftover eggs in my skillet, which I'd thoughtfully left on the stove just for him.  The cute little pestilence would hop into the skillet and get some eggs, then hop out and hide under the skillet.

Right next to the burner.



So it occurred to me that if I were quiet and dropped down below Mr. Mouse's line of vision, I could sneak up and turn the burner on.

The downside here is that the flames might not prove instantly fatal, and Mr. Mouse would crawl away to a suitably unreachable spot in the kitchen, where he would slowly achieve entropy and stink the place up.

Another option was to find a suitable instrument, such as a broom handle, and dispatch the rodent by spontaneous cranial compression.  This would require a blunt instrument of suitable size (easily done) and the dexterity to wield same with efficiency.  Just imagine, if you will, the sight of a somewhat elderly, overweight man attacking a stove with a broom handle, while the mouse escapes.

So that's out.

I found an old Victor trap in the basement and baited it with peanut butter, then set it on the kitchen counter.  I also gave the area a cleaning while I was at it.

In the morning, the peanut butter was gone and the mouse was still at large.

I debated setting a bait in my stainless steel sink.  The mouse climbs in to get the bait, but sadly can't get out.  In the morning all I need to do is turn the water on, the switch on the garbage disposal.  What, you're telling me it wouldn't work?  I suppose it might make a mess somehow.


So it's off to Home Depot where I bought a garden hose, a nozzle, and a bag of Victor mouse traps.  I set the traps, baited with peanut butter, and drank gin until I felt like going to bed.  In the morning, one trap had been sprung:

Mad Jack 1, Mouse 0

I left the rest of the traps set, but this morning there were no more trapped mice, and no more stolen bait.  I'll got two more nights, but I think the final victory is mine.