Risotto before swine
Judge not the piranha

There should TOTALLY be a medal for days like this

Remember the mouse drama a while back? Well, you may have noticed an utter lack of mouse drama. You may have assumed that since the house was clearly surrounded by a mouse free zone, our mousy problems were over.



See, what ACTUALLY happened was that there was a rash, a SPATE if you will, of mouse abandonment. In my actual room. Over and over again Claire (our beautiful, stupid cat) went out into the night, captured and stunned a mouse, scurried home with it, and LET IT GO. In MY ROOM. Because she loves me. So. After a few weeks of finding dead or dying mice in my room, I put my foot down. I also put down the door to the kitty door, barring the great white huntress from her happy hunting grounds. Mom forbid me to speak of the situation here, for fear that you all would think we had mice.

“THAT’S BECAUSE WE DO,” I told her, “or at least I DO. Gah.”

Once the door was closed, the mouse appearances stopped. After a few weeks Claire stopped yowling at the door…as much…and peace reigned.

Until today.

See, Claire’s still longing to roam free, and occasionally she escapes. A couple of days ago Raphael was playing with the cat door and pulled it open. I saw him over there, pushing trucks through the opening, but it didn’t OCCUR to me until later that the cat door was open, thankyouverymuch, and thereby allowing a MOUSE PORTAL into, well, my BEDROOM. I don’t know why. I didn’t even think about it until I saw Claire slip out that night. I was on my way to bed and I watched her disappear into the night. I debated chasing her down, or waiting up to close the door after she came back. But in the end shrugged and went to bed.

The next morning all was well, which may explain why I failed to close the dang cat door all day. I sort of figured, somewhere back in my mind, that perhaps Claire was over the whole mouse-collecting thing. Perhaps she’d moved onto other, more productive pursuits. Bomb making, for instance.

This morning, as I was getting dressed, Max yelled up the stairs,


I could have gone my whole life without hearing that particular sentence. Oh yes, I could have.

But no.

There was indeed a part of a mouse in the sunroom. In specific, it was the part of a mouse that wasn’t the head. I picked it up with several layers of Wal-Mart bag between my fingers and it. The layers weren’t quite thick enough to prevent me from feeling the tiny heft of its wee body, so I was a bit late for church. You know, what with all the hand scrubbing and muttering.

But I recovered enough to take the kids to the park this afternoon. As they played I sat on the sidewalk, watching the many kids and the swirling society of the playground. I chatted with Mom and Dad and peered at the clouds. I glanced to my left, where I saw…

A dead mouse.

Most of a dead mouse.

And many, many flies.

Now, as this park is a good ten miles from my house, I’m FAIRLY sure that Claire isn’t responsible. You understand, though, that I was already traumatized? Is that clear? And then there was this thing, this remnant of a carrier of the Black Death, just decomposing there, next to the slide?

I probably shouldn’t mention this part, but when Dad picked it up with two sticks, it dripped.

I will never be the same.

So tonight, after the kids were in bed, Clay and I were going to watch a video. While he set up the video, I ran upstairs to check on the kids. I went in my room for something, and when I opened my door this thought hit me:
It doesn’t smell right in here.


Huh. It really smells kind of WRONG in here.


I should check under the bed.

So I did.

It’s amazing how bad one tiny mouse can smell. I mean, it couldn’t have been more than an ounce of dead mouse flesh.

One day. Three mice. And I disposed of 2/3 of them.

Don't I deserve a medal or something?



I'm glad I don't have the same kind of issues as you with the dead mice, seeing as how I get an average of one a day. Actually they're voles or fieldmice rather than mice mice, if you know what I mean.

Hey wait until you have to clean up a headless duck that's still 'juicy' *grin*

As for stopping her, if you don't want to bell her, cos that's noisy when you're trying to sleep, I hear that 'they' have come up with a sonic collar tag that works the same, but we can't hear it.


You totally deserve a medal. When my cat goes outside, all she does is eat grass and then throw it up when she comes in. We figure her scent is enough to keep the mice away...they are right next door, at the house with dogs.


Oh, no! You have my sympathy. :)


I'll say you deserve a medal! Not to mention a lifetime supply of disinfectant. BTW, in my opinion, there are *never* enough layers to keep you from feeling the heft of their wee bodies when you have to dispose of them.


Okay, this entry could be the one responsible for me not reading you first thing in the morning! Now we have to have a nice, cheery blog to even it out.


LOL, oh dear, yes, mice. We had one cat who used to routinely catch, kill and (mostly) eat mice, but as a token gift to her devoted family she would leave bits of it around for us to find. Mercifully she wasn't allowed inside, but she'd do the next best thing and leave mouse parts smack in the middle of the doorstep. Let me tell you, my brother and I learned to stop and look before we ran out of the house barefoot. I also recall playing on our swingset, looking down from the monkey bars and commenting to my brother, "I think that's a stomach down there...". (I was right.) Ahh, nature...


Not a medal, a carribean vacation. Ew, ew, ew.


Oh, yuck. I WAS eating hummus and crackers. WAS.

You totally deserve a medal. Or two.


Ew, ick! There should definitely be some kind of reward for a day like that!


You def deserve an award!! Here, I'll give you one.



I feel your pain. Wicket, the huntress of Boulder, does this as well. Not only does she bring in live mice, voles, and shrews, she brings in live SNAKES. And my husband is scared of snakes, so guess who gets to catch them?

My sister's golden retriever once brought in a live carp, and dropped it into the bathtub - while she was bathing, of course.

We feed them, why must they hunt? And bring them home? Blech.

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