Mouse-capades: Not your average Mickey.

Even though I'm crazy busy this week (though, the storm seems to have passed, so we'll see how the next couple days go), I felt the need to post an update about our "mouse situation." Caution: this is a long story. But I promise, it's at least entertaining. (Cause hey, this isn't happening to you. I hope.)

We have so far extracted two mice from our house.

Wednesday night, after we discovered the mouse under our sink and I consequently laid down the law and told Sean he was responsible for getting the mice out of our house, he decided to set a trap of sorts. He put a fresh trash bag in the trash can, and at the bottom placed a paper towel with some peanut butter on it.

I immediately saw the flaw in this plan, as those crafty mice can obviously climb up plastic bags, but at least he was trying, yes?

That night, I got home and bravely peeked into the trash can. Where there was peanut butter covered in mouse crap.

Attempt 1: FAIL.

Mice: 1. Us: 0.

Saturday morning rolls around and I go into the kitchen to start making brownies for Shosh's birthday extravaganza (more on that later), and am thoroughly grossed out by the evidence of the mice. I would post the photo of all the poop, but I don't want to offend anyone's gentle sensibilities. (See below for photographic evidence of their access route.) So, I completely empty out under our sink, scrub every single thing down until my hands are aching from the hot water I was using, and then proceeded to clean the entire kitchen.

The hole in the wall that lets the mice in.

Fast forward through our insanely busy weekend to Monday night.

Sean picked up some of the sticky traps, which I am morally against. I mean, if we're going to kill the damn things, let's kill them, not stick them to something and watch while they 1) slowly suffer till their demise, 2) gnaw off a limb or two to escape, or 3) we bash them over the head to end their misery. I want these suckers gone, but I don't want any part in mouse torture. He finally agrees to get some poison or real mouse traps, and we continue on with our nice evening.

And then we hear it. The telltale sound that the mouse is under the sink in the trash can. I look to Sean with my eyebrows raised, and he gets the "you'd better take care of this" vibe I'm sending loud and clear. He surprises the mouse, traps it in the garbage bag, and quickly ties up the bag and takes it outside to the big trash can.

Attempt 2: Success. Mouse removed from house.

Mice: 1. Us: 1.

Granted, the mouse chewed its way out of the bag and was scurrying around the bottom of our outdoor trash can as of Tuesday, but at least it's not in my house. Plus, the trash guy came this morning, so at least one mouse is on its' merry way to the dump.

Fast forward again to last night.

Sean has left the door to the laundry room open again (which I HATE). I close it, and we settle down to watch an episode of The Unusuals. Sean is at his desk with his feet propped up on the couch, I'm on the couch with my feet propped up on the exercise ball.

And I see it.

A tiny, chubby little mouse, right behind Sean's desk, not two feet from where he's sitting.

As in, IN MY HOUSE. Not in the laundry room. Not under the sink. On my CARPET.

NOT OK.

We get up. It darts back behind the desk. It follows the wall to behind the heater, then to behind the bookshelf. We frantically look for something to trap it with. Sean puts out some sticky traps and tells me not to look. I say "NO! You'll kill Gus Gus!," but I can't deny that I want the thing gone one way or another.

After about 15 minutes of us trying to corner this terrified little mouse, we finally chase it into an empty tripod box, and Sean shot puts it into the ivy outside.

Attempt 3: Success. Mouse removed from house.

Mice: 1. Us: 2.

But let's just recap, shall we? Since we've moved into this apartment, we've had the following encounters with mice:

1) Sean found one at the bottom of the empty trash can back in October and released it outside.
2) I then found a dead mouse on our porch steps.
3) Sean saw one dart across our laundry room floor. (Which is WHY I hate leaving the door open.)
4) I then found a dead mouse next to the dryer.
5) We saw the one under our sink, but it escaped.
6) Sean trapped one under our sink and threw it away.
7) Our neighbor had the harrowing experience of a mouse run up to him, run up INSIDE his baggy sweatpants, then dart back under the porch when he shook the thing out.
8) Sean trapped and released the one last night.

I think this qualifies as a problem, no?

My mom told me we should get poison and put it into the hole by the sink, then seal up the hole. Which I think is a good plan. Sean thinks we shouldn't poison them because then they'll just die and make a stink, but come on. It's better than chasing a fucking mouse around our house for 15 minutes. But now I'm thinking that the area behind the sink is somehow open to our laundry area (damn you, octagon!), and I wonder about how wise poisoning them is.

(sigh.) I think a call to the exterminator is in order. Ugh.

(Side note: This post took me about 3 hours total to write because of being busy at work. Boo!)