While catching up on some of my favorite blogs today, I read this post by Carla at Four by Forty about her cat Griffen and his “mouse duties.”
Warning: If you are easily upset by the real-life adventures of living in a house where there are mice, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER! Or, just drop down to my last post and read about outhouses. (Now that I’ve said that, I’m thinking, “Is this what my life has come to? Blogging about icky mice and old outhouses? How pathetic.”)
Anyway, reading Carla’s post made me think about our mouse problem in the old farmhouse, and a couple of unusual happenings. Twice we found dead mice in unusual places. Once, we found one floating in a toilet (with a closed lid). Gross, I know, but I warned you.
The other time, Hubby and I came home from an evening out and found a dead mouse laying in the middle of the kitchen floor, not close to anything — not even under a light fixture or the ceiling fan. The dog was in the kennel outside and we had not put out any poison, so we have no idea what happened to him. I’m assuming he just got old and croaked mid-stride while crossing our kitchen floor! At least he gave us the courtesy of not dying inside a wall like some of his kissin’ cousins did on occasion. I won’t even go there!
I’ve mentioned before some of the specific conveniences I appreciate since we moved to this much newer house 5 years ago — especially an attached garage and even heat in all rooms, but I would just add to that how thankful I am that we now live in a house with NO MICE!
One other memory about mice. Our first house was an old one too, but in town. I was baking in the kitchen one evening and just caught a glimpse of a tail going under a cabinet, and I freaked out! Hubby immediately went to the nearby grocery and got a mouse trap, but by the time we went to bed, it hadn’t been caught yet. I knew that for sure, because I faithfully checked the trap about every two minutes. So, I told Hubby I just didn’t think I could go to bed knowing that wild animal was loose in our house! Gunny was a baby then. What if it attacked the baby!
Hubby, always thinkin’, put my mind at rest. He told me that mice couldn’t climb steps (our bedrooms were upstairs). Ahh, okay, then I could at least sleep in peace if I didn’t have to worry about it coming upstairs. I know, I know — young and dumb. But, hey, it worked.
I don’t remember how long it was before I found out that mice, in fact, could get a.n.y.w.h.e.r.e t.h.e.y w.a.n.t.e.d in a house through the walls. But, I do know that Hubby’s quick thinking allowed me to sleep well that night.
Ignorance doesn’t just equal bliss. Sometimes it equals sleep too!