There can be only one.
Sad, but true. And since I pay the rent, the one is me, last survivor standing in the battle of woman against mouse.
Last night, in an all out effort to rid myself of the beast, I stopped by CVS on my way home from work and bought every mousetrap they had. (Sounds more impressive than it is—they only had five.) Then I mixed sugar into my almond butter, smeared it on some Paleo bread—it’s hard to find bait when you eat Paleo—and baited the traps. I strategically placed them in the pantry, by the fridge, under the sink and in the kitchen towel drawer. Then I went to bed and waited.
Sure enough, this morning there was a dead mouse in the pantry trap. The cheap one that cost .99 cents. While I’m happy to be rid of the mouse, I dislike a violent death and so had a moment of silence for him. If I had a bugle, I would have played taps.
The cat remains aloof. Ever since he released the mouse into my home, he’s shown no interest in sniffing, tracking or catching said mouse. That little sh**.
While I’m relieved the mouse is gone, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fear what’s to come. It seems like the cat is slowly building momentum with the critters it invites into our home. First it was a frog, then a lizard, than a baby bunny and now a mouse. Can an anaconda or a rabid possum be far behind?
Dear CVS: please stock up now. Chances are good that I’m going to need some bigger traps.