Emily and I planned our trip to avoid the hordes at the airport. We left Minneapolis on Monday evening, and returned home on Saturday morning. Another plus of this plan would be to have an extra day at home to get back into the swing of things before starting the work week.
On Sunday afternoon, with my stomach properly expanded from the gastronomic gluttony of the past several days, I was craving a little snack, and decided that ice cream fit the bill nicely. I got a small dish down from the cupboard, and then opened the drawer to get out the ice cream scoop when I noticed something . . . what was that? I saw what looked like chocolate sprinkles in the drawer. How odd. Now, I know that some of you out there know where this is headed, and are thinking to yourselves that you would have known what the "sprinkles" were instantly, but in my defense, there were also little red sprinkles in the drawer as well. I had a sinking feeling that I knew what the darker sprinkles were, but the red sprinkles gave me hope that perhaps some cookie decorations had been spilled. I was investigating the situation and had Emily come take a look too. She was equally puzzled about the presence of the red "sprinkles" as well, but then she exclaimed, "Oh no! Look!" And with that she held up a bottle opener with a red rubber handle - which showed evidence of being nibbled on. We were not alone. We had a house guest, or rather, a mouse guest.
Let me stop here to say that I am unabashedly a big fat wimp when it comes to things like this - and it is not limited to mice. Bugs - especially the millipedes are also a problem. I just don't want anything to do with them. But now there was no other option. We had a mouse -- and he was in our drawers -- we had to get rid of him.
Traps were in order.
Now as many of you know, Emily is a vegetarian and a friend to the furry and four-legged, and predictably, she voiced her opposition to killing our friend. She thought that catch and release should be our strategy, and so we headed off to the hardware store to see if we could get some live-traps.
Now, I had only ever heard of the traditional spring loaded snap traps, and was not optimistic that we would find something that would allow us to catch a mouse alive. To my surprise, there were a few options. We chose four small traps made by Victor. These traps were tiny rectangles with a door on one end that lifted up when set, and when a mouse ran in, would fall shut trapping the mouse inside.
Back at home we emptied the drawer where we saw the evidence of the mouse's presence, and started baiting and setting the traps. On the advice of our parents and the Internet, we used peanut butter as our bait 'o choice. Even setting the traps, I was a bit unsettled by the whole thing. I told Emily that since she was the one pushing for a pardon for our friend, that, in the event that we caught him, she would have to be the one that let the mouse out of the trap by sliding the trap's door open. She agreed, and we went to bed.
The next morning we got up with the Gus Man and getting ready to start the work week. Emily said that she thought that we caught the mouse because she thought she had heard him. We checked the traps, and sure enough -- two of the four were closed! Now, given the design of these traps, I was sure that one or both of the traps was a false positive. The traps rely on balance -- once the mouse runs in, the trap tips, thus shutting the door. Therefore if the traps were rocked even slightly, the door would shut. Nonetheless, no chances would be taken. I got a shoebox out of Emily's closet, and a set of tongs so that we could put the traps in the shoe box so that any mice inside could be transferred to their new home near the Minneahaha Creek (a few blocks from where we live). Emily used the tongs to pick up the traps, and commented that she now did not think that there were any mice in either of the traps because they felt so light. But, as I said -- no chances would be taken. Em put the traps in the shoe boxes, and we bundled up Guster so the family could set off on our adventure to return our very own Stuart Little to the wild.
About a block from the creek Emily decided that she was just going to open the traps there since she did not believe that they contained any mice. She opened each trap and gave them a little shake to see if any mouse came out, and sure enough -- no mouse. A bit relieved, we headed back to the house to get showered and changed for work.
As we were getting ready, I decided that I should probably re-set the traps so that we could catch our friend. I opened each trap in turn to see if I needed to add more peanut butter. I slid open the door of the first trap and looked in. Plenty of peanut butter. Beautiful. I set the trap under the sink. Next trap. I slid open the door, and much to my surprise -- a brown mouse came running out! I let out a yelp like a 7 year old schoolgirl and dropped the trap. Emily got into the act as well finding jumping onto the nearest chair. Great. Just great. Mission catch and release was flawed. We only had half the plan down. Catch? No problem. As W would say -- "mission accomplished!" Release? Oh, what's that you say? Outside? We want to release the mice outside? Apparently we didn't get the memo. The upshot? The mouse was loose.
Time to call in an expert. We called in a wildlife removal specialist and they came out and set additional live traps. But so far we've come up empty. We haven't seen any further evidence of mice, which is good, but we still will feel better when we catch our friend. Again.
You may be wondering how Gus was during all the excitement. He was great, except for the part where his Dad let out his scream of terror. Gus was in his crib and I think that the scream and the subsequent commotion scared him a little and he started to cry a bit. But he was quickly calmed, and I think that he thought the whole thing was a fine adventure.
Anyway, that was our post-Thanksgiving excitement. Here are some pictures of the G-Man:
Swimming towards Dad.
One laid back Potato.
Helping Mom fold laundry.
Sitting tall.
Whaddya want?
