Of Kindred Spirits and Hunting Mice

I have a new ally in Beck.
Her story of finding a mouse carcass sent me into sympathy gagging.

I absolutely, hands-down, with out a doubt would love to rid the world of all mice.
That may sound horrible of me.
But they really are about the nasty of all nasty beasts.
They just plain old skeeve (spelling? anyone?) me out.


I have called Rav home in the middle of his work day because I saw a mouse who thought himself so bold as to go prancing through my diningroom in the middle of the day.
The set on this guy (the mouse), I'll tell ya.
To think it is OK to just go sauntering through my diningroom like that.

One evening, I fell asleep on the sofa (Rav was upstairs). When I woke up to go to bed, a mouse decides to play chicken and run right out in front of me.
I hauled ass back to the sofa and had Rav come downstairs and give me a piggy-back ride across the livingroom floor and over to the steps.


Why am I telling you about all of this?
Well, the other night in soc. class, we got to talking about germs. And how some people are extreme (though they might not think so) about hand-washing and touching things.

The instructor said she just does not think about germs the way that a germaphobe does.

And I agree. I mean, I am mindful to wash my hands. I try to hover over public toilets, I use my foot to flush public toilets. But I'm not completely paranoid in public places.

And we began a discussion about how everyone has their thing.


I couldn't think of what my thing was.
Because I'm not a freaky-deaky person.
I'm above obsession.
I have it all together.
Ha!


Slowly it came to me that my thing is mice.
When the weather starts getting colder, I have a keen sense of the almost inaudible
scratch, scratch, scratch in the walls. If I hear the slightest sound of a teeny, tiny squeak I become alert.
Hyper-alert.

My pupils dilate. My breathing becomes very slow and quiet. I sit very still. I turn in the direction of the sound.
When I hear it again, I know the game is on.


I run around the house stuffing steel wool into every little nook and cranny.
I make sure every available electrical outlet has those sonic mice keeper-awayer things.
I put the poison pellets under appliance.
I hunt them. I can tell the paths that they are travelling. I am keen to their habits.
And it really does become this thing that just takes up my spare thoughts.


It occurred to me the other day just how insane I am about keeping these things out of homes.
We were at my mom's house getting ready to leave.
As I was standing by the door, I happened to look down at the baseboard trim.
I said to my mom, Looks like you've got some mice.
She said Oh, no! Why? How do you know?
I said, See down here at the trim? This little pile of wood and paint dust? They are running behind the baseboard trim and are digging out a nest or whatever.
She was like Oh, I thought it might have been from ants.
Could be. I said. But it looks more like mice to me.


What do you think?
A job in pest control awaits?


Or just plain old insanity?