Mouse Attack

A few months ago it became apparent to Kim and I that we had a mouse problem in our garage.  What tipped us off was the fact that they were running under our feet every time we opened the garage door.  Not really, but by the mess they made it felt like it sometimes.  After procuring two mouse traps for a total of 50 cents, I caught 8 or 9 of those suckers within a month, and things seemed back to normal. 

Until this weekend that is, when I opened my winemaking supply cabinet and found mouse droppings in one of the drawers.  I have half a dozen or so different additives in plastic pouches, and this mouse had managed to chew through and destroy several different yeast nutrient products, while having the innate sense to avoid eating the 50 grams of granulated acid right next to them.   I cleaned the mess up, put several of the products in glass jars and tried to remain calm.  And then the little bastard came back the next day.

So now it’s on.  I’ve strategically positioned my traps around the cabinet, am checking it on a semi-hourly basis, and am comfortable in making the following declarative statement:  I’m gonna kill that mouse.  And then I’m gonna kill its brothers and sisters.  If I haven’t already killed its mom and dad, I’m gonna kill them too.

While I was setting the traps, 5-year old Macy came out to ask what I was doing, and I had no choice but to tell the truth.  “Neat,” she said, “can you come put on the Mickey Mouse Show for me?”  How lovely it must be to live in an uncomplicated world, where you can both kill and adore a mouse all in the same day without a hint of irony. 

My wine is aging safely in the basement, and I’m trying not to hold the whole thing against Mickey, but believe me when I tell you, I’m gonna kill that mouse.