So we have a mouse in our crooked-little-house.
Not a cute, sweet, timid little dear who only wants to cohabitate during the cold winter months.
No. This mouse is crafty, bold, and frankly a jerk.
He lives in our oven. In some unreachable, unflammable part of our oven.
He comes out during the day. Sometimes while people are at home. Even sometimes while we’re in the same room.
He poops in our sink. Even after we made sure to keep the sink spotless, wash every dish immediately after it’s been used.
We’ve set out three types of traps, and legit live-capture traps are expensive. We made our own, but he’s avoided every one. He even pushed the one in his way over to the side so he could get through.
This is war.
After much deliberation and brainstorming of clever trap ideas (that he got around, while managing to eat the food), our landlord bought us glue traps.
Glue traps are kind of a last resort. They’re effective, sure. But glue traps are also a very cruel way to die.
So I devised another plan. I’d set the trap, we’d check often, and as soon as the mouse was caught we’d spray him with cooking oil. Cooking oil neutralizes the glue, so then we’d simply de-glue him right into a bucket. Then we’d take the bucket and carry him far far away to the Arboretum. But not before I punched him in the face for pooping in our sink. Everyone ends up happy, right?
Well, I didnt’ expect the plan to be so fruitful so soon.
I set the trap and put out some peanut butter as bait, then went to my room to grab some excedrin for my head. I came back in the kitchen for water, and lo and behold I hear scuffling. The mouse had been caught.
Haha! I say, You were too greedy, mouse! You have been caught at last! But then I hear him scuffling in panic, his back legs caught awkwardly in the trap and I freak out.
So I call in housemate S, who helps calm me a bit. I gently pull the trap into the open, because the poor thing is desperately clinging to the molding on the wall in his attempt to escape. The more he struggles the more he gets stuck, and I’m panicking to see the thing in such distress and possible pain.
Cooking oil, S reminds me, so I take our spray canister of canola and liberally spritz down the mouse. Of course, he thinks its some nefarious plot to poison him, and struggles harder. I can feel him breathing and his little heart pounding through the plastic of the glue trap. He’s not coming off. His feet are twisted at an awkward angle- it looks painful. I can see his beady eyes bulging.
I try to gently remove him, but the oil isn’t working, and suddenly I lose all my noble goals of live release. He’s suffering. He could rip off his fur or limbs in order to escape. He could have a little mousey heart-attack. The oil might not work, and he’ll be permanently stuck until we drown him or let him starve. What was I thinking, using these horrible glue traps?! I have to end his misery. I’m so sorry, mouse I whimper, and tell S to get my boot and a bag to put over it. I’m going to mercy- stomp this mouse.
I place him outside, put on my boot and bag shield and say a quick prayer for his little soul. It’ll be over soon, I whisper.
But as soon as I step outside the spray-crisco takes marvelous effect, and with one last tug the mouse pulls himself free and darts under the house. Not even a bit of fur remains in the trap.
Now everyone’s traumatized, and nothing came of it. Except maybe I’ve given this mouse an ax to grind.
Who lives in our oven.
Who is now coated in aerosol-propelled cooking oil.
Oh yeah, and he’s got a new name: Khan.
Looks like I’ve got myself an arch-nemisis.
Update: I hear noises in the kitchen. This is an hour later, and the mouse is back for more. Glutton (for punishment?)
Update 2: Housemate R and her boyfriend B went to investigate. Kahn is caught in the EXACT SAME TRAP on the other side of the room. Appears dead of fright. The end?
Update 3: Kahn has escaped. Rebecca turned her back and he pulled himself loose. Perhaps it’s because he’s already been coated in oil. Will now insert instant Khaaaaannnn!!!!1! button, for quick on-the-go fist shaking.
Update 4: No, no he hasn’t. He’s escaped the trap but he’s cornered between the fridge, the wall, and the trap. So if he tries to get out, he’s trapped again… His new nickname is “Crisco.” Crisco Khan.
Update 5: Checked this morning. Found the trap upside down and covered in dust/dirt. Cheerio bait missing. CURSES! My somatics teacher said she’d lend me her legitimate live trap, so let’s hope this works.