For over a month, that hairy little rodent would come in my kitchen and chew through the plastic bag and chow on my bread leaving a trail of crumbs and forcing me to throw out the bread. I’d hear him rumbling through the plastic garbage bag under the sink and occasionally he would let me see his furry tail. A small little fellow, but I was scared nonetheless. Sealing wall holes, sprinkling poison and setting those sticky traps in a kid free place did nothing.
Rationally, I understood that the mouse was not dangerous, just a carrier of diseases, and he would not harm me but I still found myself huddling in the corner when I was convinced he was stuck in the trash bag.
I saw him the other night going through the first layer of a ziplocked bag of bagels, his body, his tail, his little face. He went under the toaster into the back of the pantry drawer. I called my husband who was not happy to be disturbed during the Super Bowl. We set one of those old school nasty snap traps that I imagine are more humane than the sticky ones where the mouse screams in a panic and then dies.
The next morning I saw what appeared to be his little face, whiskers and all popping out from behind the pantry and I called my husband to take care of it. The trap worked.
While I’m relieved that the mouse is out of my house, done taunting me with his ingenuity at finding new hiding places, I’m still a bit sad. I would have let the mouse live, even fed him, if he stayed out of the apartment. I’d leave a little bread for him under the sink each night if I knew he would never see the daylight. I fantasize that maybe he wass like Feivel in An American Tail who lost his way before he could be reunited with his family or he was collecting food for an injured child, or a talented chef and I ended his story abruptly. Even Mickey is a likable mouse. But I am a mom and I know the difference between cartoons and reality, fantasy and actuality, and the mouse had to go. I just hope he doesn’t have any family members lurking in the wall.