I should have killed him when I had the chance.
But I let him go. Now, he tortures me, day and night.
This all started with the Silverware Attack of ’16 when rodents unknown attacked my “silverware” drawer leaving their disgusting deposits on every knife, fork and spoon. With a one-acre plot and a two-story barn, Cobb Manor has always been a mice hostel, especially when those chilly nights arrive.
I usually have a laissez-faire attitude, live and let live, you know. The cellar is theirs. But when they attack the forks, then run across the living room floor while I am sitting there, it is war.
A three-pronged investigation determined that the little [expletives] were coming in under the sink through a hole in the floor. I have become so desperate that I am considering an $8,000 renovation of that entire wall. True, it would replace the dreary cabinets and insulate a leaky outside wall, but the real impetus is to build a Donald Trump-style wall to keep the illegal aliens out of the house.
Weeks ago, I went off to Home Depot to buy snap traps and glue traps, much to the consternation of that PETA fan, the lovely Blue Eyes. We had a rare fight in the Home Depot aisles. Her point was that glue traps do not kill the vermin, only pin them to the glue. I would be required to apply the coup de grace.
Did I listen? I did not.
I went home and set up four snap traps and two glue traps. It took a day or two but I found a critter stuck to the glue. He looked dead to me, so I dumped the trap and the mouse into a rubbish barrel. I forgot about it until the next morning when it occurred to me that the rubbish barrel has a huge hole in it. You guessed it; the little [expletive] had escaped leaving half of his skin in the glue.
Blue Eyes was right again. I hate that.
Now, he was really cocky. He (I say “he” but I never checked) came up on the counter at night and attacked a tomato, then a banana.
Disgusting.
Many have suggested getting a cat. The obvious drawback is that smelly litter box. Another is the speedway outside that they call Cobb Road. I could not keep a cat indoors and his life expectancy on my street would be about 25 minutes. I have led a strange life with part of it being the number of cats I have buried. I would guess at least 25.
Don’t ask. But I won’t have any more cats, thank you.
So, it was back to the hardware store for two more mouse traps and bag of D-Con. I tried that before and the critters actually carried the poison off for a picnic. But I was taking no chances. I re-baited the half-dozen traps with Boursin cheese since the peanut butter was getting exactly no results.
(Only in Camden would mousetraps be baited with Boursin cheese.)
Now, the morning ritual is to check my half-dozen traps in the kitchen, living room and cellar, much like the animal trappers on those Alaska-based shows.
There are still two large glue traps on the floor. I think the little (expletive) has figured that out and will not return. I hope and pray that one of the traditional traps will catch and kill the little (expletive) visitor.
Then I will not have to beat him to death with a snow shovel, like I should have done the last time.
This is war. He fouled my forks. He ate my tomato.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the Bangor Daily News in Rockland for 30 years.