It was shaking up to be a perfectly decent Thursday evening. I had the Xbox fired up, a stomach filled with Chinese food, and a six pack of Thailand’s finest import I was making a dent in. However my alcohol and gaming-induced relaxation was shattered by a small brown blur making laps between behind the heater, to the bookcases, to the tv and my desk. It took me a while to soak into my poor brain that it was indeed a mouse, a small one and one that didn’t seem at all concerned with my lack of my offering it sacred guest right. To make the situation worse, I couldn’t enjoy my gaming with this little fucker running around, so I went to bed and read some tedious science fiction.
In the morning I went to the Big Green Shop, the most expedient answer among the array of rodent dealing gear was baits, so I bought a pack of Ratsak rodent baits, and threw a few behind the bookcases and the heater. That evening I sneaked up to the mouse, and observed him nibbling on one of the baits. I returned to my couch, smug in the knowledge that this interloper will soon be hemorrhaging out of various orifices and will plague me no more.
In the morning the baits were gone, but that evening the mouse was seemingly unconcerned with the LD50 of Brodifacon. Had this mouse found a Ring of Poison Immunity in some previous encounter? And one that could fit on its tiny paws? Clearly a different tact was needed, this time I decided to go old school. I got my hands on a pack of those cheap, horrible mouse traps with the wooden base and the stainless steel spring loaded trap of death. I loaded one with white chocolate, set it and slid it between two book cases.
Next morning, I discovered that the little fucker triggered the trap, and judging by the mouse blood splash up the wall, injuring himself in the process. However the chocolate was gone. Excellent, I thought to myself, surely he crawled away and died with a curse on his lips and regretting many of his life choices. Sadly a week later he was back, running his insane laps and unconcerned by his brush with death.
Back to The Big Green Shop, and this time, my credit card screaming in pain, I got something that doesn’t so much resemble a mouse trap as a mouse maze with a trap door. A week later I accept that this is not at all appealing to this mouse, and I buy a trap that has been banned in various EU countries due to the violence of its method of killing. I load it with peanut butter, set it and shove it behind my TV. Unfortunately the thing is clearly designed for bigger prey, and my antagonist manages to steal the peanut butter without triggering the trap, no doubt giggling in glee, and saying mocking things about my numerous physical, emotional and sexual shortcomings. I am at a loss how to continue, as my only other option would be to call an exterminator, which would go against my DIY ethic, and my bank account.
A few days later and I am playing Xbox again, refusing to become a vampire (again) and playing with a Leatherman knife I had assumed I had lost until I did some tidying in the spare room, when I spotted my nemesis again, running up the wall, and then hiding between my desk and the exposed brick wall. Was this mouse actually some kind of Russian spy trying to learn secrets from my aging desktop computer? Enough was enough, and it was time to go medieval on his arse.
I sneak up to the desk, and stabbed two and a half inches of Japanese steel at the mouse. the mouse bolts away and disappears, and while I see no blood on the blade, I am sure it met resistance. Two weeks later and there is no further evidence of mouse activity in the unit, and I can declare victory. I have named that pocket knife Mouse-bane, and if I had a mantle I would mount Mouse-bane above it.
I have noticed that since the Night of the Short Knife, my humble abode seems a tad too quiet and still. This mouse was the closest I have had to a housemate since I moved in nine months ago- My need for some extra cutter has been dynamically opposed to my need to live alone after twelve years of living with other people- But now I don’t have anyone to swear at. A frog has recently taken up residence in my backyard and does his mating call for a few hours in the early evening (I know how he feels) but it’s not quite the same. Maybe I should get a cat.
UPDATE 01/05/2021: Last night while watching Netflix at my desk, I heard a sharp metallic snap. It was the only mousetrap I hadn’t bothered packing up and putting away catching and killing the mouse. He must have been driven indoors with the rain.
Adrian's Got The Moose 