My Dirty Little Secret

I don’t know any other way to admit this to you all but to just come clean. Our family has a secret we’ve been hiding for a couple months. We – oh it’s just so shameful – have – Lord help me – mice. We have mice. I’m not a hoarder! Admittedly my house isn’t meticulous (with three pets and a toddler, it’s a constant battle against fur) but it’s not what I’d call hospitable to vermin. The home we currently rent does not have an indoor pantry so we are forced to keep the pantry in the garage. For nearly three years things were fine. And then they weren’t.

The mice got into anything they possibly could in the pantry. And a bunch of gardening supplies. They ate spices, beans, baking supplies, fertilizer, grass seed. We tried setting traps but they weren’t sensitive enough to stop the mice. We only caught one and I just KNEW there were more than that. Then one somehow got into the house and ran into my son’s room. I screamed like a little girl (which I am not prone to doing) and threw a fit, emailing our landlord and DEMANDING something be done. Unfortunately our landlord lives on the other side of the planet (literally) and I STILL have not heard back from him. 

This weekend my amazingly wonderful husband cleaned out the entire garage. He emptied the pantry, scoured the floors, picked up any loose papers or foods, and even found three dead mice trapped in the pitcher we used last summer to make sun tea (EWW! No worries. It’s been tossed.) Then we bought better traps. Ironically cheaper traps. Those small wooden snap traps. In the few hours they have been out I’ve already caught two mice and I am jiggered if they won’t all have been sent back to the pit of hell from whence they came by the end of the week.

I’m sitting here listening to the satisfying “Snap!” sound occasionally coming from the garage and feeling rather pleased with myself for being the mouse harbinger of doom. That’s not sadistic. Right?

Oh sure. Now she wants to hunt.
Oh sure. Now she wants to hunt.