Last summer, I discovered that we had a visitor in the gar^H^H^Hshop. Having never had mice in or around my house before, I was sort of amused by the furry grey visitor. It brought back fond memories of hamsters while growing up while carefully hiding all of the bad mice-related things that people often associate with them. My kids also thought it was cute and had lots of fun mouse-spotting while I was out there doing what we do.
Then one day, my 10 year old daughter was in the garage getting some bottled water for her lunch. While in the box, she disturbed the mouse, who freaked out, and flew out of the box. Mighty-mouse brushed by my daughter's cheek as it made its escape. That was the first nail in the coffin. My very intellegent, articulate, and rational daughter would no longer go into the garage without an adult. As a sensitive and caring father, I thought it was hilarious.
Then I made a horrible discovery of gargantuan proportions.
It's winter, and the heating situation in my garage isn't exactly ideal at the moment, leading me to limit my time out there. Also, I had been focusing on some other projects around the house as well as some unplanned auto maintenance. In short, I didn't realize that the mouse had somehow found its way up the dust collection hose and onto the surface of the table saw.
Did you know that mouse urine will etch a cast iron top? I now had dozens of little black spots scattered across the cast iron. The little f&*$@r had been using my table saw as an outhouse. I got out the 0000 steel wool, wd40, and johnson's paste wax, but to no avail. The rat has permanently autographed my table saw.
He had to die.
I went to the local borg to peruse the insecticide isle (about the only thing it's good for) in the hopes that they also had devices that could be used to rid my gar^H^H^Hshop of it's now unwelcome guest. They had all kinds of better-mousetrap type inventions. One could electrocute a mouse with 2 AA batteries. Yet another was designed to glue the mouse to a pad (yuk) where it would surely have the slow, painful death by starvation it deserves. Having never taken the life of any sort of mammal before, I consulted my coworkers before this moment. Being sensitive and caring coworkers, they thought it was hilarious. But suggested that the 98c pair of old fashioned victor mousetraps would be most effective.
On the way home from the borg, my 7 year old son, laughing, now obsessed with new and unique ways to kill mice, was suggesting all kinds of gruesome deaths. The most creative involved a frenchfry slicer and a vat of boiling grease. For a moment I considered his proposal. But I decided against it since it would ruin a perfectly good frenchfy slicer and frier.
Upon arriving home, I set the trap, baited with peanut butter. The next day, I returned to find, much to my horror, that the trap had been fired, but no dead mouse. Of course, all the peanut butter was gone. I felt robbed. So I reset the trap and tried a different location.
While talking with my coworkers, one of them made a truly frightening comment, "There's probably more than one of them." Could it be true? Did I indeed have multiple mice masquerading as one? We'll find out soon enough.
That night, around 9:30, the 6 and 7 year old boys snuck out of bed to check on the mousetrap. Success! But I didn't know it yet. My first indication that we had caught a mouse was the screams from my 14 year old daughter who suddenly found herself face-to-face with a dead mouse in a mousetrap. The boys thought she should have a close-up look at the remains and thoughtfully brought it to her. Being a sincere and caring father, I thought it was hilarious. My wife disagreed.
By this time, my three year old was showing some aprehension about walking through the garage. He can't say "Mickey Mouse", instead opting for the more humorous and oddly appropriate "Icky Mouse". A passing sarcastic comment by one of the older children caused him to associate the mouse in the garage with the Rat-King from Florida. "Icky Mouse all gone?" he would ask in a concerned tone. If only he new the reality.
Since that night, the bodycount had steadily increased:
Nasty mice with poor bathroom habits: 1 Pissed-off woodworker: 5
I even cought two at once. We'll see how many actually die before the bloodbath ends.
brian