A mouse in the house
I don't like mice.
I suppose - no, I KNOW - mice are better than rats. But I don't have to live with rats and, given a choice, I'd really prefer not having to share my abode with "mus musculus" either.
Granted, the cat finds them a challenge and a sometimes terrific toy. The younger dog, who stunned us all by swallowing a finch whole was he was still a baby, finds a morsel of mouse as good as any of the other unmentionables he chows between meals. Whether cornered inside the house or out matters not in the least to these two. It does to me.
Then again, don't get me started on the damage those cute little varmints have done to the cars: wires chewed through, nests blocking those things that actually sometimes make a roadster run, not to mention (though I do) the overpowering and unforgettable stench when one (or more) kick the bucket deep in some inaccessible panel.
No, I claim no love for mice.
My love for rodents, at least the smaller ones, does not place me in the category of those women who jump at first sight onto the nearest chair, skirts pulled high (has anyone figured THAT out?) with nonstoppable shrieks. I confess to having been that once. No more, though I'll happily sic cat and/or dog on any I see. To be candid, that's rather a waste because no self-respecting mouse is going to stand around until the eyes of any (other than mine) locate it.
Eradication efforts prove futile and I am left to wonder how so many find their way so easily into what is essentially still a new house. What is it about being IN that intrigues them so?
I recall one recent evening when dinner guests were momentarily due. Work finished, food prepared, I snatched a few moments for a well-deserved breather.
I sit. I relax.
The movement in an otherwise still room draws my eyes to the far wall. The mouse strolls nonchalantly into the kitchen. It's impossible to speculate where it came from - or went.
I'd had a similar encounter once before, also when friends were coming for the first time. Though I had worried through that evening, that mouse had the good graces to disappear.
Not this one.
It meandered up behind my chair causing the women facing me to shriek before I too (forget all I said earlier) pulled my legs up tight beneath me.
Impasse!
Only one of the men moved. Perhaps he was simply hungrier than the others.
Once realizing how tiny our prey (and of no interest to Minor), I joined in shooing it across the room and through the plants. The doors were opened wide with hopes it would take the hint and depart.
We didn't see it again, forgot about it and enjoyed a relaxing dinner.
That said, this is one battle I don't intend to lose.
I hadn't known Havaharts came so small!
Susan Crossett is a Cassadaga resident. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com
