I really don’t have any huge problems with mice, or spiders, or whatever other demonic creatures inhabit the crawlspace beneath the house … as long as they recognize the floor as an impenetrable barrier between our worlds, not to be crossed. A DMZ of sorts, if you will, necessary for the continuance of the uneasy peace that allows for our coexistence. I reminded the mouse of our implicit agreement re: living arrangements by shrieking like a little schoolgirl “GET OUT! GET THE FUCK DOWNSTAIRS! I WILL END YOU! I WILL MURDER YOU!”, which I’m sure was very convincing, being delivered from atop a table by a quivering, sobbing guy wearing Sugar Daddy jammies.
Anyway, I knew I had to set some traps to send a message and to reestablish proper order in the world. It was either that, or get a cat, and I’m not sure that I should be allowed to choose animals with whom to cohabitate, given the unfortunate results of my last attempt. Traps it would be.
I loaded them up with peanut butter and several varieties of cheese, as I assume mice have varying palates, and wanted to provide a little something for everyone. I’m a good host that way. I knew that there was a potential issue with Indy, as she also enjoys peanut butter and cheese (with the exception of Muenster … she’s an odd one). I explained the risks of attempting to treat herself to a little snack, and set a couple of traps and sprung them with a pencil in front of her, so that she would realize their destructive force and give them wide berth in her wanderings during my absence. It seemed to work, as she wanted nothing to do with them after the brief demonstration.
Unfortunately, the learning didn’t really seem to take, because I came home after work that day to this:
In any case, I haven’t seen another mouse for a few days – I’m sure they’re laughing too hard at my boneheaded dog to make the climb. Whatever works, I guess. Good dog.