The House Mouse

So there we were last night, watching Scared Shrekless. We were sitting on the couch, minding our own business. Our two dogs were laying near us, on the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement on the floor of our living room, so I turn my head and refocus my attention. Well hello there, Jerry, looking for some cheese?

Immediately, I start to get up to prepare for the hunt. As I'm halfway off the couch, my wife shrieks like someone laid a red-hot fire poker on her neck, which scares the crap out of every living thing in the house... including the mouse, which goes darting into a corner.

As I'm racking my brain, torturing it into confessing what item or tool would be most useful for not splattering mouse-guts all over our living room floor, I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the background, there's a flurry of high-pitched demands, commands and pleas for help coming at me. Sorry, babe, I can't hear you. I'm hunting.

A few weeks ago, some friends had a couple mice in their house, and they managed to get them outside effectively. I'll take a page from their book; a bucket, with something flat and inflexible pushed slowly underneath to trap the mouse in a mobile container.

The bucket was easy. I just emptied the garbage from the bathroom garbage can (it needed to be done anyway), turned it upside down and, after moving the Rock Band/Guitar Hero guitar from the corner it was hiding in, dropped it on the mouse. There, mouse immobile. Grabbing a serving plate from the kitchen, I very carefully slid it under the bucket to get the mouse off the floor.

Of course, during the sliding of the plate (which is almost as wide as my wife's eyes, at this point), she starts making some noises that I've somehow let the mouse escape. In fact, she seems very convinced that this little animal, which weighs less than an ounce, has somehow transmogrified into a giant pregnant-lady-eating monster, escaped my bucket trap, and is now coming towards her for a little snack.

Now since this little critter weighs less than an ounce, I can't tell if it's really inside my contraption, so I give it a little up-down, and nod to myself that it's still inside once I hear the little thump of it landing back on the plate. Apparently, however, this little mouse-tossing exercise only serves to solidify her belief that it's going to break free and eat her face.

I carry my prize outside, open it up, and let the little bugger go free. Sure, he was a little shaken up (no pun intended) but he seemed unharmed and happy to be out. So happy, in fact, he made a bee-line for the back of our property, away from the house.

The best part about the whole ordeal, other than my wife reaching octaves only our dogs could hear? Our dogs never saw the thing or even really noticed that something out of the ordinary was going on. Some watchdogs.

-A