Alas, ten blissful months have passed since I last wrote a mousecapades segment. But—they’re back! And I am once more regaling you with my hair-raising tale.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 1

The morning started peacefully enough. My housekeeper arrived and, as she began to unload the kitchen trash, informed me that mice were present. Please understand she is a wonderful woman, dependable as the day is long, and spoils my husband, stocking the fridge with his Dr. Peppers. But her English is not much better than my Spanish, and my Spanish sucks.

About the only thing I can say in Spanish is:

Yo quiero una cerveza, por favor and ¿Dónde está el baño?

For those who speak less Spanish than I do, memorizing these phrases is crucial.

Translation: I want a beer, please.

Where is the restroom?

I digress. Back to my tale of woe. She began pointing to the stockpile of armaments for mouse battle gathering dust under the sink.

Do not use the green poison, she cautioned, as the mice will die in the house. I nodded. She told me to use peanut butter, but she could not remember the word “peanut” only butter. But after she explained you put it on sandwiches, I was with her. Giving peanut butter to a mouse is like giving a bone to a dog.

After she left, I pulled the glue board for mice that she had previously recommended, folded it into a triangle, and smugly left it overnight across from the sink, a reliable place to nab the suckers. For extra measure, I pulled out my trusty jar of Jif under the sink that is strictly reserved for the mice. A little dab ought to do it, I thought.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 2

Jumping up early, I ran into the kitchen, ready to fling the box into the trash…. Where did it go? I looked around and realized the mouse had indeed been stuck, scooted to another part of the kitchen while in the white triangle of death, and (if you are squeamish, stop reading now and go to the next paragraph) …. I warned you—left fur and a bit of blood. Needless to say, those traps ae now banned from the armory as I only wish to kill—not torture.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 3

Back to my tried-and-true trap. I pulled out a brand new one and baited it as always.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 4

The next morning the trap appeared as if nothing had ventured in. However, after examining it gingerly so as not to get my fingers caught, I realized the villain had licked the tasty treat off without snapping the contraction.

Grr. I reset the bugger and applied a smaller mound of goo.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 5

Yep, you guessed it. The peanut butter had again been licked off. Beside myself, I dove into the munitions storehouse and extracted the jaws of death. No little squirt is going to beat me at this game.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 6

By now, I am fixing a martini at seven in the morning because the brat licked the peanut butter right off the jaws of death. After consuming a liberal swallow, I reset the monster, tucking a small smear of the delicacy in the trap’s recess.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 7

I could not believe it. Peering, I found the sly creature had carved out about one-fourth of the bait without setting it off.

MOUSECAPADES DAY 8

Back to the arsenal to find an old trap with a hair trigger. After snapping my fingers several times, I managed to smear a scintilla of brown underneath the trigger.