When we bought the house it turned out that we also bought some creatures. Some of them have been simple, yet amusing to deal with. The yellowjacket comes to mind. The mailbox is in bad shape, and has a gap big enough for things to climb in. The first time I checked the mail I noticed the yellowjacket sitting at the back of the box. By the time our mail actually started being delivered (it took USPS a while, probably because their trucks in Bethel are lame compared to other places), the yellowjacket had started making a nest. Covered neck to toe, wearing thick gloves and armed with an empty jar and a trowel because it is all we had (it was a funny sight), I scooped up the nest and left it jarred up in the sun for a few days. The yellowjacket eventually ate the nest, which was weird.
But that's not the main creature we had to deal with. The creature that came to mind has four legs and a tail. No, it isn't a fox or deer, though we have seen both of those in the yard. It isn't a dog, either, even though we were asked if we were interested in taking on the previous owner's 11-year old, incontinent, cataract-ridden dog, Lucky. We passed on that. Nope. I'm talking about mice. The fact that there were mice was not unexpected. Our property backs onto woods (bush for Australians who just can't do 'woods'), so there are all manner of critters out there.
Our first solid clue that we had mice was probably when we went to get some chocolate for dessert not long after we moved into the house. At the opened end of the chocolate were some small, but definitely noticeable, teeth marks. We looked into how to get rid of the mice. There were several steps. The first actually involved the pantry, and that was to close up any food supplies that the mouse may have. That made sense to me. If nomadic animals in Africa run out of food they move along. At least that is what National Geographical channel has taught me. If I can't find food in the pantry, I move to the fridge. Yep, that logic sounds airtight. So, we went airtight. We bought some mason jars at the local supermarket and took anything that might be remotely interesting for a mouse and sealed it up. Step 1 complete.
The second step was exclusion. This step required some thought. Eventually I came to understand what it meant: mice must be social creatures. So, I asked Liz if she wanted to go out for dinner. The key to the plan was that I didn't invite the mouse. We went on walks, still not inviting the mouse. Basically, we just excluded the mouse from every activity that we did, big or small. It didn't seem to work, because we walked into the garage to go out one day (without the mouse, of course) and Liz saw it running along the garage wall, behind an old cabinet thing. Once we were home I pulled the cabinet away from the corner to see if the mouse was still there. I didn't find a mouse, but I did find a gaping hole. A new meaning for exclusion came to mind; it turns out that exclusion just means keeping mice out in the first place! Liz was already planning a trip to Lowe's on unrelated business, so she said she would pick something up there to fill the hole. The guy at Lowe's recommended steel wool.
Why steel wool? As everyone knows when humans move into a new place they tend to exterminate whatever is already living there, and that can often lead to extinction. Around these parts, back while colonization was still slow, there were special sheep that, rather than regular wool, had steel wool. The only thing these steel wool sheep needed to worry about were humans and lightning. These sheep also didn't graze on grass; they ate mice. So, I put 2 and 2 together and realized that by shoving steel wool in the hole these mice would be reminded of their age old foe and not want to be anywhere near the house. All of that realization took place in the space of a second or so after Liz produced the steel wool from the bag, before she could explain to me that steel wool was good because the mice can't chew their way through it. But if I worked at Lowe's, I'd be giving people my reason for using steel wool for mouse exclusion. I packed the hole tight, and we looked around but didn't see any other big gaping holes that they might be coming through. We decided that we were done with exclusion.
A week or so later I was sitting in the family room, absent-mindedly watching baseball and not at all worrying about mice. Then, from behind the TV, in the shelving along the wall, I heard a noise. Several noises. It went something like "Thump. Thu-thu-thu-thu-thump." Then, rolling onto the floor, came a small mouse. It was momentarily startled by the fact that it had fallen out and rolled onto the floor. Then it saw me. Our eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, when in reality it was probably only about 5 seconds. It was frozen. I was thinking "Damn you, you little bastard, I don't have anything to catch you in right now..." Almost as if it could read my mind the mouse set off, probably making fun of me as it went. It was time for phase 3. I know I was using "step" earlier, but phase sounds so much cooler. Phase 3 was relocation/extermination.
Phase 3 revolved around taking the mice that had already breached our perimeter and removing them. Now that we had a sighting inside the house we had somewhere to set our trap. We had picked up a no-kill trap, because neither of us really wanted to deal with dead mice. I read the instructions, put some peanut butter in the trap and set it up. The next day the trap hadn't been tripped. The day after that though the door was closed and the trap triggered. I spoke with enthusiasm to Liz about the fact that we had caught a mouse, and that I would go release it back into the food chain next to the woods. I picked up the trap, careful not to open the door and let the mouse just run free. I got all the way to the rocks at the back of the yard and lowered the trap to the ground. I opened the door, but the mouse didn't like the smell of freedom. I tilted the trap slightly, but the mouse still didn't take the hint. I tipped it all the way, but still no mouse. I looked inside, and it was empty... ghost mouse. In one of those panicked "The killer is calling from inside the house" moments, I ran back inside... Fortunately, Liz was OK.
A few days passed and still nothing found its way into the trap, not even false alarms, so we decided to move the trap for the hell of it somewhere else. The next morning the door was shut. Wary of false alarms again I told Liz about it and got ready for the day. I picked up the trap and went outside. I got to the edge of the grass in the yard and opened the door. Nothing. Not again! I tilted the trap, and then it happened. Out slid a dead mouse. I sighed. "No kill trap my ass." was my thought. I dropped the trap next to the garage door and went inside to tell Liz. We decided not to use the killing no-kill trap anymore and get something else. We set it up instead and haven't seen anything since.
So, what can we deduce from that long, pictureless and almost pointless account? There are many options:
1. The mouse that was caught and killed was the only mouse in the house. But that's probably the least likely of all of the options.
2. By following through with the 3 phases of the plan, the mice that we did have moved on when they realized there was nothing there for them. That's more likely than option 1.
3. The mice are waiting. You see, I didn't tell you the strangest part of the story. When I went into the backyard later that same day, the dead mouse was gone. Vanished. Now, I think that somewhere, either in the woods, or perhaps they've already evaded out security and are in the house, a family of mice waits. Lead by their zombie king, the mice will strike when we least suspect it. That, I believe, is the most likely option.
I have to leave it there for now. I have a battle to prep for, and supplies to gather. The zombie mouse battle could be here any day now.
