Call Me Nimrod

January 14, 2015 at 11:40 am (The Easy Chair)

The Mighty Hunter.

As a homeowner, one faces many challenges. Big ones, small ones. It’s the small ones that eat away at you.

And your candy bar.

I’ve mentioned Rain’s piles of clothes occupying my room. This clutter has given respite to a small family of mice. Now, I’m an animal lover, mostly, and we have had mice in cages many times over the years. (Along with hamsters, gerbils, and currently two Guinea pigs named Hoagie and Carrot Cake. Sister was hungry when she named them.) So it’s nothing personal, mice, but when you come uninvited you risk the consequences.

And when you eat my candy bar, you DIE.

Mouse CandyI had a giant Symphony milk chocolate bar stashed for a rainy day. One never knows when an overdose of chocolate is called for. When I was feeling blue, I went to my stash, and began seeing red.

Peanut butter is supposedly the WD-40 of mouse bait. I dropped $2 on four traps at Freddy’s, goobered up the tongues and laid them strategically along the walls. I caught six within a few days. Then it got quiet.

I noticed the traps weren’t moving, but the peanut butter was gone. WTF?

Those little bastards must be champions at oral sex, because they lick that peanut butter clean and make their escape. Oh yeah?

Well, that candy bar they consumed almost a quarter-pound of? Let’s see what happens…

I jammed a bit of chocolate onto the brass tongue. (“Hey, you got chocolate on my peanut butter!”) I returned home twelve hours later, and the trap near my chair was sprung. I flipped it, and there was one of the grown-ups. He or she died with their lips to chocolate. We should all be so lucky.

I took the trap (and contents) to the kitchen garbage, showing the cats as I passed. “This is how it’s done, you lazy motherfuckers!” My niece looked on with a mix of amusement and horror.

I reset the trap, and when I returned home last night, I’d caught another adult. Just can’t say no to the chocolate, huh? It must work fast, because the mice were already showing rigor mortis. Tails straight as a ruler… My niece said, “I almost feel sorry for the mice.”

“Then let ’em eat YOUR goddamn candy bar!”

I’ve heard no rustling since. The traps are baited and reset, and I will check when I get home, before I even take my coat off.

How’s that for being versatile? I’m spending my days and nights chasing mice AND pussy…

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