What's for Christmas? Murder

Normally the word mouse refers to a pointing device on my laptop.

I use the word in sentences like "I wish I had a wireless mouse" or "the mouse won't move." I have in the past considered these issues real problems and threats have been made in frustration due to what at the time seemed a major inconvenience. Well let me tell you, it was not a major inconvenience compared to the scourge I find myself under now. Mice! Mice in the kitchen!

It's very common for people to discover a little furry friend or two in their home at this time of year. The rodent population is moving inside for the winter, they have to go somewhere and I'm practical about all this. I don't consider myself a particularly squeamish person, I shovel, take out my own trash. Truth be told, I kind of pride myself as a very independent woman. My sisters and I have always been relatively independent and what we lack in mouse trapping courage, we make up for in cats. Or so we thought.

Three, count them, we have three cats. Unintentionally now mind you. I just moved back from Quebec where I attended school so my cat is a temporary addition to Middle Sister's twin cats in our big, old house in Rabbittown (even our St. John's neighbourhood is named after a rodent!) To set the scene, try and visualize a very large, orange cat (probably half lynx or something) who goes by the name of Doug. Then we have a fat, food thieving cat by the name of Missy and her likely anorexic sister Dora named after our nan. Though truthfully, I highly doubt nan would have been impressed by the tribute considering her view on cats. These three felines have afforded us a false sense of security. While friends and family all over the island concern themselves with the possibility of mice settling in their basements and between their walls, we have always figured that the cats would manage this problem. Why have cats in the first place, right? Doug for example, is not even a particularly friendly, energetic fellow. He rarely acknowledges my presence unless I am somewhere in the vicinity of his bowl. But I always believed that his cat nature would overpower his slothfulness if ever this situation arose.

Not so. Unfortunately, these house pets of ours don't have an ounce of killer instinct between the lot of them. I discovered this one day when I found all three playing a game of bandy ball in the front hallway with one very unlucky mouse. Instead of killing the disgusting little creature, they passed it back and forth as if to torture the guts out of it. Eventually, I had to step in. Wearing my tallest rubber boots, I shoved an empty butter tub down over the unsuspecting mouse, accidentally catching him in the mid section and effectively squishing him in half. Did he die? No, of course not! His barely still attached parts continued to wiggle as the three cats stared at me with looks of disappointment all over their faces. Apparently, I had ruined the good time. Megan Coles, cat buzz kill.

So now, it's as if we just moved in to our kitchen. All food and cookware, plates and cutlery have been boxed and set on high to prevent contamination. First line of defense (after the useless cats that is) was snap traps, the more humane approach. Nothing. Second line of defense was sticky traps, less humane but more effective. Nothing. Third line of defense was a play right out of the bay-girl play book. I emailed my father, informed him of the predicament and was instructed to drown them. Mice aren't very bright, dad said. Lead a mouse to water and he will drown himself for you, dad said. So I rigged up the gallon bucket, mouse drowning contraption and assured myself that if I was met by a bucket of floating vermin in the morning, I assured myself I would be relieved. Nauseated to the point of vomiting but relieved. Still...nothing.

As it stands, we are down two mice. I would like to think that our efforts to evict these little tyrants have encouraged their departure but alas, I think they've caught on. Caught on or not now, I'm going to get those little buggers one way or another. I can't see them but I have this certainty right, I know they're still there. So if they won't come in willingly, well, then, I guess we'll have to poison the works of them. I'm all for animal rights or whatever, just so long as they don't infringe on my own and it's my right to keep the cutlery in the cutlery drawer. And what's worse is that I worry I'll be met by their extended family when I enter my little house in Savage Cove. I hope they haven't taken up residence there too, I doubt that they haven't but I still hope. And if they are snuggled in for the winter in my little biscuit box on the Northern Pen, well, then, I guess I'll have to poison them too.

What's for Christmas?

Murder.

What's for Christmas? Murder

Where to

from here

Megan Coles