Mousecapades. Again? Really? One of my friends mentioned the other day that she was ready for another mousecapades episode. I tried to brush it off. I am so over the vermin. Well, they’re back! And Redsie, this one’s for you.

MOUSECAPADES AWAKENING

The first clue appeared in the food pantry’s chip storage area. I tossed the ravaged bag, then laid out poison on the floor of the pantry for my uninvited guests. None of the usual sightings of the creatures stealing across the floor to the kitchen late in the evening occurred…..So far, so good. I checked their favorite gathering place in the master bath linen closet where I continuously store poison. The deadly green stick showed a bit of nibbling. Take that, you bastard.

Then, after finishing dinner a few days later, I looked at the potato chip bag my husband had been snacking from and spied small holes in the exterior. Sighing, he said, “I wondered why they seemed stale.”

Again, I returned to the chip section, throwing away more bags and a sack of dried black-eyed peas that the demons had enjoyed as a snack. This time a hunk of poison stood guard on the shelf.

The pests now had me backed into a corner. Trap time. Only, uh-oh, my other traps were worn, and I had tossed them out. After making a quick trip to the store, I dutifully put one trap, lightly smeared with peanut butter, under the kitchen cabinet. A failsafe area. The idiots always wind up dead there.

MOUSECAPADES WAR

Several days passed. The trap had not sprung. My husband and I high-fived, believing the poison had done its deed. Alas, the next morning I discovered they had helped themselves to the corn tortillas on the kitchen cabinet. Puzzled, I pulled out the trap. Lo and behold, they had licked the trap clean without setting it off.

This time, I diligently worked to fill the crevice of the trap with the brown goo, making the mouse work to taste it. Sure enough, the next morning I had nabbed his ass. Being excited, I woke my husband to deliver the good news. Gleefully I flung his body into the yard for the ants to return him to the earth and again high-fived my husband. The mouse’s last laugh? He had eaten into my Dave’s Killer Bread, enjoying a fulfilling last meal prior to execution.

MOUSECAPADES SURPRISE

Several days later my husband announced he feared that the mouse’s partner was rotting somewhere in the house. I had earlier checked the linen closet, seeing nothing amiss. I asked him to accompany me into the bathroom to search since I had been unable to find evidence. He refused.

After dinner, I followed my usual routine, putting on my pajamas and climbing into bed with my Kindle reader. Taking a break, I went into the bathroom, discovering that the odor my husband complained of was alive and well. I pulled out the towels and sheets I use to wrap plants in winter that sit on the floor of the linen closet and quickly found the source of the odor.

Returning to the great room, I asked who was going to clean it up. (Confession time: The Manhattan and wine I had consumed with my steak dinner left me in no shape to deal with the grizzly, odoriferous carcass.) I knew whose chore it was as my husband is on a walker. Finally, he suggested I get the broom and dustpan, which I did.

However, the body did not sweep easily. Eventually I maneuvered it into the dustpan and tossed his sorry ass next to his brother.

And who had the last laugh? The mouse, of course. The critter had been in the process of building a nest and chewed a hole in one of the bath towels in the linen closet to line its lair with fluff.