Mice came with the house that my father had moved into town from one of his farms. We could hear them running through the walls. When one came out into the living space, I got the shovel from the fireplace and bopped it on the head. This rendered the innocent little critter unconscious so I could pick it up by the tail and throw it into the incinerator where it was forgotten.
Fall seemed to bring the mice in from the pasture. We had a large rock fireplace and hearth, with the rocks climbing the wall above. Occasionally I saw a little grey thing cross the hearth and disappear into the wall. With a flashlight pointed just right, I could peer into the crevices and see teeny little eyes shining back at me.
Perhaps the most interesting (and silly) mouse experience was one autumn in Albuquerque. We lived in Kirtland Air Force base housing. A friend was over visiting when she said, “Was that a mouse?”
“I believe it was,” said I, and lifted my feet up into the chair. The bottom edge of the inside doors were about two inches off the floor, plenty of room for a mouse. I walked across all the furniture in the living room until we saw the mouse run into the kitchen and hide under the refrigerator.
We were beside ourselves. What on earth would we do about this dangerous creature? All the husbands in the neighborhood were at work. Ah, except one. He was on leave, working on his car at the curb enjoying the beautiful autumn afternoon.
We ran down the street and beseeched him to come and save us. (I can’t believe I’m telling this story. Is it obvious that I had gotten over the picking-up-the-mouse-by-the-tail stage)?
Our rescuer indulged us and followed us home. We showed him into the kitchen and gave him a broom. My friend blocked one kitchen door, my four-year-old son blocked the other, and I opened the back door to the yard.
Then, behold, our hero slid the broom under the refrigerator, the broom chased the mouse out, and we women began to scream. That was that. The mouse escaped back into the house, Superman gave up and left, – no doubt anxious to tell his buddies about the silly ordeal – and my friend left me – alone – in the house – with my little children – and that monster.
I put the three little ones down for a nap and ventured back into the living room. It was my time to read a book in the easy chair, with my feet up, of course, and keep an eye out for the little rodent.
Then I heard it. Tick,tick,tick. Tick, tick, tick. Something was in the closet, walking across the keys of typewriter that was sitting on the floor. I went for the same weapon – the broom – and gingerly used it to lift the cover of the typewriter. There it was, and there it went.
Well, that was that. I knew this was too big for me to handle alone. My husband came home after work, and I told him we had a visitor. He set a trap for the mouse, and then left again.
I eventually went to bed, leaving my shoes on the nightstand – where else? – and tried not to think about the disturbing events of the day.
Soon, I heard the trap snap! Now I was able to relax and go to sleep. When my husband came back home, and I told him that the trap had snapped, he took care of it before he came to bed. I did not know what he did with it nor did I want to know.
Whew! Glad that was over. At least, I thought it was. The next morning, I went out to the front yard and to my distress, there was that blamed mouse. It stared up at from the trap. I thought it had been tossed into the trash, but instead, it was thrown out on the lawn, to harass me one last time.
Meeses scare me to pieces.
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