I am going to say this, as much as I hate to.
I saw a mouse in my house.
If you think about it, most people probably do have some sort of little critters lurking around in the heating ducts, the basement corners, attic, whatever. They are so small. Our houses in comparison are so big, not to mention so warm and dry when it’s crappy and cold outside… doesn’t take much to find a way in.
But it’s not ok for me to see it, or KNOW about it.
So after seeing this tiny little furry body scurrying across my floor, I was shocked. Mortified. Embarrassed. Disgusted.
As I have dealt with this little….issue…. I had no choice but to propel myself through various stages of emotion. Almost identical in fact, to the stages one often goes through after a divorce, or after the death of a loved one. It has been that tragic for me.
Stage 1. Denial.
Absolutely. Because there is NO WAY I have a mouse in my house. Obviously someone once had a pet hamster and it has managed to live in the heating vents for the past 6 years or so since we bought the house, completely undetected. Maybe I was witness to him finally finding his way free after all these years. Probably just looking for a big wheel to run on. Or, even better…. I probably didn’t just see that. Nope, it happened so fast… it may have been my imagination and god knows that thing gets out of hand all the time….
Stage 2. Anger.
After spending a fortune on a load of NO kill traps, and spreading them all over to humanely catch any potential mouse, or gerbil, or hamster that could possibly be living in my heating vent….. that bastard managed to avoid all of them and show up again the next day, scurrying around like he owned the place. TWICE in the same night. My jumping around with a flashlight and broom had no effect whatsoever. Now I’m angry. You might be cute. But I’m going to kill you.
Stage 3. Bargaining.
What a wasted stage. This never works, as I can tell you-being a mother of 4. Doesn’t work with the kids, doesn’t work with a mouse. But we try it… and I guess the promise NOT to kill him just wasn’t enough to inspire that mouse to sashay into one of my traps. If only I had been better prepared for a rodent invasion….If only I had encased my home in steel mesh…If only I had made a better deal with God…. I could have saved us from the mouse.
Stage 4. Depression.
Well, it IS really depressing to know I am being invaded by at least one small, furry creature. And I am going to believe, for the sake of my sanity, that he JUST got here the very first moment I saw him, and when I am not seeing him, he is in some sort of suspended animation, and NOT spreading his little mouse germs all over my house. What? That sounds like denial to you? Listen, I NEED to be in denial right now. Or I would burn this place down…
Stage 5. Acceptance.
It helped when I talked to a friend at work. She just had the same issue. We talked about traps. She told me what I already knew, those no-kill traps are a joke. I accepted my problem. Bought a million cheap wooden traps after work… armed myself with peanut butter, and turned my furnace room into a torture chamber.
I have since become an official murderer of innocent mice. As much as I would have preferred to avoid that, I also accept that I am willing to kill a mouse, or 2…to keep my kids disease free and my home clean. And to keep myself sane.
Do I feel bad? Well….maybe a little??? Do you hate me for being a mouse killer?