Cute Furry Rodent
It is an ongoing battle in which I climb up this hill imagining every morning the hideous beasts from nightmares caught in the frail store-bought snare only to be confronted with mostly empty traps licked clean of the peanut butter enticement.
And when not empty the captured beast turns out to be a little country mouse. You've seen the cartoons which depict the differences between the smart-talking, wily, city mouse and the barefoot, simple-minded country mouse. I know you have.
Except that the country mice out here are naked. I mean they are not wearing suspendered dungareees, sporting straw hats, or clenching between their dead jaws, a corncob pipe.
The score, not that this is a battle with a clear sense of winner and loser, is something like 14-3, in favor of the mice. Of course the 3 equals dead mice and the 14 is just a dab of licked clean peanut butter from an unsprung store-bought mouse trap. So clearly, the stakes are a little higher for rodents around here.
I have tried two slightly different versions of the standard, snap-your-neck mouse trap with equally unpredictable results. I sense there to be a master mouse who goes as yet untrapped, who may in fact be luring his lesser foot soldiers into scenarios of guaranteed expiration. It is the sense of this master mouse which has me peeking with clenched teeth into this kitchen every morning, expecting something horrific, like one of those modern experiments gone awry. Not just a mouse with a human ear growing from its side but maybe a miniature human head, that looks like Dick Cheney but speaks like George Bush and smokes cigarettes, like Laura.
But no, not yet. The three dead ones have all been cute--grey, furry, petite, non-threatening even in their horrific poses of surprise demise.
Nothing caught this morning. Score 16-3.
the other day at work I stepped on a little dead mouse by mistake. It popped. I yelled a lot for awhile, then I cleaned it up.
I went upstate this past winter to visit a friend who lives in an old farmhouse. The first night we were there I awoke to fast and furious sounds coming from the bathroom. I went to the bathroom door, I will admit a little bit scared (read: heart racing). I poked my head in and saw a flash of brown. I quickly closed the door again.
A squirrel was locked in the bathroom, what to do? Wait. We waited until 6am and went calling upon the neighbor. Shamefully, I will admit to playing the “girl card,” and knocking on big neighbor man’s door. We have a squirrel in our bathroom, can you help? Big neighbor man said sure, no problem, let’s see what we can do. Big neighbor man went upstairs to the bathroom and pushed the squirrel out the window. Now, I thought this was maybe not the best approach (of course not that I had offered any better course of action). But didn’t the squirrel get into the house some way, and wouldn’t it want to come back?
Friend and I went to the local hardware store. We were instructed to buy what is called a “havahart” squirrel trap and were told that yes the squirrel would most likely come back and yes it is best – once you have squirrel in the trap – to drive over a mile away to release the little guy. Apparently they have a keen sense of direction and are very determined.
Anyway, this is getting a little long-winded, sorry. We set the trap (with peanut butter), squirrel came back that night and was trapped, we drove over a mile away and let the squirrel go. The next morning I took a shower in the now and forever called ‘squirrel bathroom’. I got out of the shower, reached for a towel, and what did I find, three little just-born-baby squirrels bedded in the towels. Have you ever seen a baby squirrel? Well, I hadn’t. And they were not fuzzy and cute. I went running out of that bathroom, leaps hollers and all. Flash forward, hello again big neighbor man will you help us? Neighbor man scooped up the babies in the towel, put them in a basket and we went driving in search of mama squirrel. We left the babies in their basket behind a stone wall, somewhere, I hoped, near where we had left mom. It was really cold out. I still feel badly.
When I was little we had a pet squirrel named petunia. Everyday we would let her out and every night she would come home to sleep in her cage. One night she did not come back.
Remember: raising squirrels is not easy or cheap. Licensed wildlife rehabilitator is the standard answer.
For newbies, here’s the Arboretum take on wild pets. As far as mice go, we’re in direct competition; I flush ‘em.
im going through an imaginary danger phase right now. laura smokes? yaaaaahhhh
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It is an ongoing battle in which I climb up this hill imagining every morning the hideous beasts from nightmares caught in the frail store-bought snare only to be confronted with mostly empty traps licked clean of the peanut butter enticement.
And when not empty the captured beast turns out to be a little country mouse. You've seen the cartoons which depict the differences between the smart-talking, wily, city mouse and the barefoot, simple-minded country mouse. I know you have.
Except that the country mice out here are naked. I mean they are not wearing suspendered dungareees, sporting straw hats, or clenching between their dead jaws, a corncob pipe.
The score, not that this is a battle with a clear sense of winner and loser, is something like 14-3, in favor of the mice. Of course the 3 equals dead mice and the 14 is just a dab of licked clean peanut butter from an unsprung store-bought mouse trap. So clearly, the stakes are a little higher for rodents around here.
I have tried two slightly different versions of the standard, snap-your-neck mouse trap with equally unpredictable results. I sense there to be a master mouse who goes as yet untrapped, who may in fact be luring his lesser foot soldiers into scenarios of guaranteed expiration. It is the sense of this master mouse which has me peeking with clenched teeth into this kitchen every morning, expecting something horrific, like one of those modern experiments gone awry. Not just a mouse with a human ear growing from its side but maybe a miniature human head, that looks like Dick Cheney but speaks like George Bush and smokes cigarettes, like Laura.
But no, not yet. The three dead ones have all been cute--grey, furry, petite, non-threatening even in their horrific poses of surprise demise.
Nothing caught this morning. Score 16-3.
- jimlouis 8-02-2004 4:19 pm
the other day at work I stepped on a little dead mouse by mistake. It popped. I yelled a lot for awhile, then I cleaned it up.
- sally mckay 8-02-2004 8:07 pm [add a comment]
I went upstate this past winter to visit a friend who lives in an old farmhouse. The first night we were there I awoke to fast and furious sounds coming from the bathroom. I went to the bathroom door, I will admit a little bit scared (read: heart racing). I poked my head in and saw a flash of brown. I quickly closed the door again.
A squirrel was locked in the bathroom, what to do? Wait. We waited until 6am and went calling upon the neighbor. Shamefully, I will admit to playing the “girl card,” and knocking on big neighbor man’s door. We have a squirrel in our bathroom, can you help? Big neighbor man said sure, no problem, let’s see what we can do. Big neighbor man went upstairs to the bathroom and pushed the squirrel out the window. Now, I thought this was maybe not the best approach (of course not that I had offered any better course of action). But didn’t the squirrel get into the house some way, and wouldn’t it want to come back?
Friend and I went to the local hardware store. We were instructed to buy what is called a “havahart” squirrel trap and were told that yes the squirrel would most likely come back and yes it is best – once you have squirrel in the trap – to drive over a mile away to release the little guy. Apparently they have a keen sense of direction and are very determined.
Anyway, this is getting a little long-winded, sorry. We set the trap (with peanut butter), squirrel came back that night and was trapped, we drove over a mile away and let the squirrel go. The next morning I took a shower in the now and forever called ‘squirrel bathroom’. I got out of the shower, reached for a towel, and what did I find, three little just-born-baby squirrels bedded in the towels. Have you ever seen a baby squirrel? Well, I hadn’t. And they were not fuzzy and cute. I went running out of that bathroom, leaps hollers and all. Flash forward, hello again big neighbor man will you help us? Neighbor man scooped up the babies in the towel, put them in a basket and we went driving in search of mama squirrel. We left the babies in their basket behind a stone wall, somewhere, I hoped, near where we had left mom. It was really cold out. I still feel badly.
When I was little we had a pet squirrel named petunia. Everyday we would let her out and every night she would come home to sleep in her cage. One night she did not come back.
- selma 8-02-2004 9:07 pm [add a comment]
Licensed wildlife rehabilitator is the standard answer.For newbies, here’s the Arboretum take on wild pets. As far as mice go, we’re in direct competition; I flush ‘em.
- alex 8-02-2004 11:04 pm [1 comment]
im going through an imaginary danger phase right now. laura smokes? yaaaaahhhh
- bill 8-02-2004 11:48 pm [add a comment]