Across the top of my refrigerator, tiny ski tracks zigzagged down slopes of dust. Whoa, Nellie! As a renowned wildlife expert, I quickly deduced this was not the usual hippo infestation we endure each winter in the Midwest.
While migrating around the Great Lakes, these Velveeta-loving giants wiggle through crevices and into our homes. This is quite rough on vinyl siding. Worse, when dinner is repeatedly ruined by hippos cavorting in the attic, many of us fall off the wagon and resume bowling.
To my trained eye, the tracks came from a non-hippoic species, namely, rodents. The kind who dug winter sports. Espousing nonviolence, I rigged up toy mice in the following scenarios to scare the real beasties from the house.
Predator - next to "Reptile Crossing" sign, a Mickey doll hung skewered on the fangs of a stuffed rattlesnake.
Drowning - chipmunks Simon, Theodore and Alvin lay at the bottom of the fish tank, wearing cement boots and scanty Speedos.
Electrocution - Minnie, dressed in sequinned orange jumpsuit from my Prison Barbie collection, strapped in miniature chair. Hershey's Kiss "helmet" wired to car battery.
Suicide - generic toy mouse hung itself from the candy jar, leaving a maudlin note written on a Reese's Cup wrapper.
But my efforts came to naught. The rodential rascals ignored the death scenes and kept skiing. They also built a lodge, two chairlifts, and yodeled through the night. So I caved in and set traps baited with cheap peanut butter.
The next morning, I found the traps sprung but empty. My keen eye searched for a trail and…hey, where'd all the chocolate jimmies come from?!?
The trail led straight to my gingerbread house. I know, Christmas is over. But the house was a multi-holiday centerpiece, and added elegance to the mantel of my cardboard fireplace.
The house's front view was decorated for Christmas, with candy cane archways and gumdrop snowmen; on the Easter side, marshmallow chicks lounged on a jelly bean deck. The Halloween view had candy corn coffins filled with gummy worms. And the fourth? Valentine's Day. Yes, built of cinnamon hearts and condoms.
Well, the mice had trashed the house, and I mourned over beheaded chicks, missing condoms, and snowmen doing unspeakable things with candy corn. Such wanton debauchery shocked me speechless. At last, I found my voice and whimpered, "They partied without me?!?"
The war was on. I switched to glue pads, baited with pastel mini-marshmallows. Well, the beasties again took the bait and somehow escaped the glue! But, my dear Watson, on each trap they left behind a strip of belly fur and a pile of…are those…pastel jimmies!?!?
As humanoids, we have a duty to cull the weak and stupid from any species that annoys us. However, the clever trap evasions indicated intelligent beings-sore bellies and pastel poop notwithstanding. Well, tough bananas, muchachos! The little Einsteins still had to go.
Then, Eureka! I discovered the old-fashioned boot trick. How it works: Cats stare at hall closet. Shoo cats away. Pull on boots. Stomp foot for better fit. Remove foot, smooth out sock wrinkles. Jam foot into boot. Repeat. Curse ill-fitting boot. Stomp harder.
Pause. Think. Withdraw foot, tip boot and shake. Scream at soaring, bug-eyed mouse. Run for weapons! Renew oath to nonviolence. Put down chainsaw. Grab plastic yogurt container-almost empty. Chase away dimwitted cats. Slam container over mouse. Miss and curse. Repeat. Again. Once more.
When caught, slide hand-No!! Are you crazy?? Slide lid underneath. Fling mouse into driveway. Bargain with God to keep it (a) outside; and (b) celibate. Mop up yogurt throughout house.
Clearly, the issue needs further study, and I've received a federal grant to monitor rodent patterns. Experimenting with various tracking methods, I've discovered useful data:
- Leg-banding herds of mice will cause carpal tunnel syndrome;
- The tiny branding irons get (owie owie) HOT!! and
- When macraméing the radio collars, use unwaxed dental floss. Mint.
Copyright © 2009 Mary Tompsett
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