Man vs. Mouse

Several winters ago, I had noticed that every now and then I would hear the pitter-patter of feet in the back of my garage. I only use the front of my garage for parking my car while the back is more of my husband's domain (in other words, a total freaking mess). I mentioned it to my husband, Mike, who agreed that he had heard them also and he would hunt down and kill whatever was making these noises at his earliest convenience. I asked him to please not hurt the little creature, but rather free it back into the wild where it belonged.

My husband is a professional procrastinator, so weeks went by before we spoke of this again. I remember the evening like it was yesterday. I was relaxing with a glass of wine (hey, I'm entitled, after all I have twin seven year old sons that suck the life force from my being on a daily basis) while Mike was in the back of the garage. He came into the den and sat down next to me and in an excruciatingly serious voice said, "We need to talk". The expression on his face made me think he was going to ask for a divorce or worse, tell me he had just seen all the Loehmann's charges on our credit card bill. He went on to say that while he was in the back of the garage he realized there were many more creatures (mice actually) then he originally had thought and he would have to exterminate them, not free them back into the wild as I had wished. When I asked how he knew there were a bunch of mice back there, he said that when they heard him enter they started squeaking in harmony, which translated in his mind to them yelling at him for invading their privacy. ( The piles of mouse poop all over the back of the garage were a major tip off too). Since it was dark and he didn't have sufficient light to investigate further, he began his mouse hunting seek and destroy mission the following day.

The next morning, Mike went into the back of the garage and came out a little while later to give me an update on our situation. Apparently, not only had we been offering these rodents shelter from the cold but nutritionally complete meals as well. You see, several years ago our dog, Kasey, became allergic to her dog food and had to switch to a different formula. Having just bought a 20 pound bag of now useless dog food, Mike was less than thrilled to have to waste it. I asked him to throw it out, never knowing that he secretly had placed the full bag on a low shelf in the back of the garage. As it turns out, our mice friends had chewed a little feeding hole in the bottom of the bag, so after they had finished the entire 20 pounds of food the bag still retained its full-looking shape. Immediately, I was struck by the sheer brilliance of these rodents! I imagined that we were indeed breeding a new generation of super-mice.

After that update, Mike disappeared into the back of the garage and was gone a long time. When he had finally come back into our house, I found that we were not only providing food and shelter for our mice-friends, but also a warm and nurturing maternity ward for their young. Allow me to explain. Several years ago, Mike stored some rolled up old carpet in the back of the you know where (God only knows why) and when he was poking around he opened it to find at least 30 baby mice at various stages of development nesting in it. He immediately used his cell phone to call his friend to ask how to dispose of 30 baby mice. Most people would have used their cell to call an exterminator but that would have made too much sense. Without hesitation, his friend responded, "Drown em". Not once did the guy ask why the hell he had 30 mice to kill to begin with, which is mind-boggling to me. Anyway, deciding that he couldn't bring himself to do this, Mike instead chose to place the rolled up carpet in a large plastic leaf bag which he placed at the side of the house for the baby, mostly furless, mice to die from the cold. With this task complete, he found another piece of rolled up carpet he felt needed inspection (Why yes, my husband does have a rolled up, useless carpet fetish, what's it to you?). When he was about to open it, an adult mouse stuck its head out and then ran back into the carpet to hide. My husband realized there were at least three adults living in it, which posed a larger disposal problem then the baby mice. Finally, his brain in fully functional order, Mike realized that if he put the carpet with the adult mice in a leaf bag at the side of our house, their fur would keep them warm and they would use their claws to rip a hole in the bag and escape, probably running back into our garage, better known to them as "Club Mickey". At this point he remembered that he had some bug-foggers that he was keeping for a rental property he owns (don't ask why that house needs regular bug-foggings please). He then decided to place the rolled up carpet in a leaf bag and throw a lit bug-fogger in it to stun, if not completely obliterate the adult mice. He became concerned momentarily when the bug-fogger caused the bag to inflate to near explosion. Luckily, Mike emerged victorious and came in to tell me of his escapades, with his testosterone levels clearly at the highest that they had ever been.

The next day, we decided to buy further mouse-killing devices to complete the holocaust. I could only think that the best place for rat poison and traps must be K-Mart. Afterall, what are three words a Jewish woman never hears? "Attention K-Mart shoppers". Naturally, we made buying mouse-killing paraphernalia a family affair, and brought the kids with us. Ironically, as we were walking into the store we noticed a local news camera crew and interviewer stopping the woman in front of us asking what she was shopping for today. We quickly ran by, narrowly escaping the embarrassment of Mike's clients hearing that their financial planner (his successful occupation) was there to buy rat traps and poison because of the mouse infestation in his garage. Deciding to go with the traditional rat traps that break their pathetic little necks when they try to grab an itty-bitty piece of cheese and some boxed rat poison, our mission was complete. Mike explained to the kids that he wasn't actually killing the mice, but the traps would simply fling them out of our garage when they went for the cheese (you have to be sensitive around young children, you know).

And so it went, for several weeks. Mike was catching about 8 mice a day (and buying lots of cheese, string cheese is the best) until he single-handedly completely exterminated the gigantic mouse population in the garage. Slowly, I noticed that the stray cat that had been living at the side of our house had moved on to better feeding grounds. Club Mickey closed for some serious repairs never to reopen again.