Not again!

Mouse having a snack

I was feeling insanely proud of how humanely I handled a mouse invasion of my kitchen counter, and yes, patting myself on the back for my mousey humanity. You go, Jan! I uniformly anointed surfaces in my kitchen with peppermint oil. That oily goddess of mice repellents worked like a charm. The mouse/mice seemed gone with the wind.

Several friends (party poopers, to be honest) inquired about where the mice go after being peppermint-ized. Me: “I just fantasize those little critters slip outside the way they came in. I don’t see them, therefore they’re gone.”

Sounded plausible to me…until I was getting in bed, recently, and a little furry something scurried underneath my bedroom door. I was shocked, scared, and let fly some 4-letter words. Don’t know if the furry little critter was offended by those words, but it certainly turned tail, scurrying back out under the door.

Heart pounding. Who needs this before going to bed? Huh? Without totally asphyxiating myself, could I even consider peppermint-izing the whole house? No way. I’d die of peppermint asphyxiation (and of social embarrassment when friends came to visit.)

Onward to humane mousey plan, #2….

I bought a chocolate bar, highly recommended by Dr. Google as a mousey gourmet treat. The chocolate bar was largely consumed by me as I plotted my next humane mousey offensive. However, I did leave enough bits of chocolate, as bait, for the 2 humane mousetraps I’d unearthed. Chocolate and mice. Who knew? (Ah, Dr. Google, you’re in my prayers.)

Patting myself on the back for my continuing mousy humanity, I went to asleep. Asleep, that is, until I heard audible scrabbling in the living room around 4 AM. 4 AM?! Pulled on some sweats, turned on the lights, and discovered a very well-nourished mouse in one of my humane traps, with no discernible sign of the chocolate bait I’d left.

Oh God, now I’ve got to go outside, in the dark, and free this critter. I did. ‘Nough said.

Woke up at 7-ish a.m. Tired. Really tired. What the heck, I needed to be prudent and check the second humane mouse trap, fully expecting it to be empty. Wrong. Another portly mouse present, minus the chocolate bait, of course. An additional trip outside for release.

Let’s face it, my lifelong workarounds for “I prefer not to kill critters” can be a hassle. A real hassle. No doubt about it. But, apparently, my size 9 feet have elected to tread this road, anyway. So be it.