Uninvited Pets

I like living in an old house. One-of-a-kind floor plan, hardwood floors, big trees in the yard, a funky added-on room that preserves the exterior wood paneling as two of its interior walls, and dozens of other little quirks and details that add up to "character".

Unfortunately, it also has dozens of places where a small, flexible burrower could get into the structure, and even more places where one can hide once inside. So I've got mice.

They're not the only rodents in the neighborhood, but I have to say that I'm more fond of the squirrels who bound around my yard, leap through the trees, scamper across the skylight, and occasionally peer in my windows from the tall bushes. I live my life, they live their lives, and neither of us impinges on the other.

I'd be happy to take the same attitude toward the mice, but from time to time they break that unspoken truce. It's happened a few times before. Once I caught one trying to gnaw his way between the baseboards of the wall. Another time I found a couple of emaciated corpses in the cellar that apparently couldn't find their way out. Last year I found that something had been nibbling at the seasoning packets and had eaten through and consumed the Taco Bell hot sauce packets I'd been saving in one of my kitchen drawers. Lately I've been hearing scratching sounds from the ceiling, where I assume a few mice are trying to make themselves at home under the upstairs neighbor's floorboards.

But the last few days, they've crossed the line... into my living space. That I can't deal with. Hell, I had a hard enough time dealing with it when my boyfriend invaded my living space, and I loved and had great sex with him. These guys just steal my food and leave little turds. At least Andy used the toilet.

I don't want to kill them. For one thing, I'm squeamish about that sort of thing. Plus it just seems wrong to kill something for just trying to survive. Breaking & Entering shouldn't warrant the death penalty. I'd rather just get them to leave.

When a bee or a moth gets into the house, it's not too difficult to shepherd them out a window or open door. Just leave it open long enough and they'll usually find their own way out through a combination of chance and instincts to head for light areas. When I encountered a mouse in the house a couple summers ago, I just left the doors open overnight and I never saw him again.

Earlier tonight I heard a little click from the kitchen, and after going in there and quietly listening for more sounds, I spied him running for cover on the counter. He ducked into a container, I took it out to the back porch, then chased him (around and around, back and forth) to the open screen door. A nice, humane solution.

But it's not always that easy. For one thing, this critter was definitely smaller than the one I'd seen yesterday. And as I was writing this, I saw the bigger one again (the same part of the room I'd seen him in before). And I have to assume that there are more. Taking care of one - who makes it easy for me to move him outside - isn't enough. Winter's on its way, and we've had several sub-freezing nights already. Even if I left the doors open, I'm guessing the mice would have sense enough to hunker down and stay put to keep warm, rather than being enticed by the genuine natural goodness outside.

So I've resorted to a trap. It's not one of those humane traps that captures them unharmed so you can release them into the wild. I'd prefer that, but I don't know where to get one. But I couldn't stomach the traditional spring-loaded bar mousetrap, which would leave its victim exposed for me to look at. Instead I bought a little plastic maze that springs shut and kills the mouse when it gets far enough inside... out of sight.

I half hope it never gets sprung. I don't really want to kill anything. But I don't want to share my home with a mouse... or spend the coming days and weeks not really knowing whether I'm doing so or not.

One thing that baffles me is just how well adapted these creatures are. Like the one that made its way into and out of my spice drawer a while back. Or the one on my kitchen counter a little while ago. How did he get there? There's no apparent route to climb up there, and they're a good three feet above the floor. That's quite a climb for something not two inches long (not including the tail). I can figure out making their way into the cellar, but what about climbing up to my ceiling (presumably inside the walls)? If nothing else, it demands a certain level of respect.

But that's still not enough for me to want to live with them.