In the months following our first and only mouse entrapment, my roommate and I have grown quite comfortable.
Nothing indicates that we have any little mouse friends, and we are pretty careful about keeping our food in plastic bins or refrigerated. So far, this seems to have been fine as we haven't seen any evidence to make us think there are mice afoot.
On Friday morning, secure in the knowledge of a mouse free home, I awoke in good spirits (a birthday celebration was only a day away!) got ready for a half day of work, and nearly skipped into the kitchen.
I grabbed something from the fridge and was just about to take a bite when I turned toward the living room and froze. A tiny grey mouse, barely the size of a fist, crouched only 15 feet from me. Stalk still, silent.
We stared each other down, Wild West style. I could almost hear dueling music playing faintly in the air as I wondered why this little creature didn't move. My experience with mice is limited, but I know that, in general, they run when frightened. They don't stick around to see what's up.
Steeling myself, I finally willed my body to unfreeze and move toward my bedroom. My first thought: I need to get my rain boots on (this is always a first priority when dealing with mice. You never know when they are going to try some ninja moves on your ankle. Rain boots are invaluable should this occur). Feet sheathed in protective rubber, I lingered in the doorway of my bedroom, snapped this blurry photo and wondered what to do about this paralyzed mouse.
Then, it moved.
A strange wiggle-hop that highlighted the problem. This little fellow only had three legs, one of it's hind legs was gone.
With some frantic hopping of my own, I tried to decide the best course of action. I took a large bottle to be recycled, opened the front door (which was quite near to the mouse) and tried to nudge the invalid out the door. Except mice with only three legs tend to hop in circles. Apparently.
Panicked I did the only thing one can do after failing to boot a gimpy mouse out of their front door at 7:30 in the morning on a work day. I called my mother.
We worked out a plan that involved me scooping the mouse up with a shovel, after first covering with a box. The mouse barely moved as I shoveled it up. I held the handle as far as it could go and started down my apartment corridor.
I headed outside and with all my strength heaved that mouse straight into some nearby bushes. I felt a surge of sadness as its little body careened through the air; it apparently had died during the ordeal.
Clomping back inside (rain boots, remember) I proceeded to finish getting ready for the day, fighting strong waves of nausea every few minutes when I pictured it's little body huddled against my roommate's TOM shoes, waiting for death.
Needless to say, the innocent days of believing I'm the only person in the city who lives a rodent free apartment are over.
Long live peppermint oil and mouse traps!
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