The mouse in my house

The BBQ Pit
1

This post contains much cursing. You can’t say you weren’t warned…

T’was the night before Saturday, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring… except a fucking mouse!
Mickey is the latest resident in the Max household. Despite being just a little fucker, Mickey has made excellent headway through the following items:

A bag of sugar (got a sweet tooth, eh?)
10 (10!!!) packets of instant noodles (what, couldn’t afford the good stuff?)
My chocolate poptarts (you little fucker)
My K-time muffin bars (your days are numbered)
A packet of sultanas (don’t try kidding me that you’re eating healthy, I KNOW about those poptarts)
A packet of brown paper bags (what, you’re packing lunches to take away now?)
Miscellaneous herbs and spices (keeping up the variety)
Dog kibbles (rounding out the diet, I see)
Dog treats (you’re not a dog, really)

… to name just a few.

A couple weekends ago, I cleaned out the cupboard. Let me tell you that one little mouse can make an awful lot of shit. Little cunt. I vacuumed and cleaned (god, the smell), and cleaned some more. MaxBabe finished it off when I just couldn’t do any more.

We chucked out ALL the food that was in that cupboard, and bought new stuff, along with a few handy mouse traps.

Mickey’s thwarted the technology. Little cunt. I can just picture the turdling, sitting in his little hidey hole (for the record, his preferred escape venue is under the pantry where we can’t get to him), laughing his mousey tits off at us. Little shit. Sitting pretty while he eats the delicacies we’ve left on those traps. Corn chips, sultanas, peanut butter. All are history.

MaxBabe hates mice. Imagine her joy at finding Mickey sitting in the pantry one evening. Incredulous, she called me over. “Look at this!”, she exclaimed, “it’s Mickey!”. I went over, and sure enough, there it was, sitting there all happy. To quote what I told BestFriend the other day, “I have set traps, nothing. The little cunt actually runs around in the cupboard while we’re IN THERE getting food out! Little shit just sat there and frightened the bejesus out of MaxBabe one time LMAO! She made me come round to look at it and I was so stunned to see it there all snug and happy that I forgot to beat it to a bloody pulp. Little cunt.”

Honestly. I was so amazed to see the cute widdle mousey, that I forgot it was Mickey the ravenous, verminous cunt. The moment it occurred to me to smash it into a pile of juicy mouse flesh, Mickey’s mousey-sense must’ve alerted it to its impending fate, because it RAN. Right under the pantry. Little fucker.

MaxBabe insisted we get different mousetraps. So we got some of the “big metal spring attached to a big fucking head-removing piece of metal” variety. I’ve set the trap and we are patiently waiting to hear the “SNAP!!!” that heralds Mickey’s demise.

So here I sit, patiently… that fucker’s days are numbered. C’mon mouse. Eat my food. I fucking dare you.

2

Oh man, this is right up there with some of Masta WangKa’s OPs!

I wish I could offer help or support, but frankly I’m too busy laughing. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!

One thought just occurred to me. How about getting a mouse glue-pad? Get the little fucker to stick to that, then put some goodies just out of reach. Videotape if possible and post somewhere. (Don’t let it starve to death, though, just teach the bastard a lesson in who’s boss in the castle)

3

:smack: I forgot to avoid against what I did to my Mickey a few years back. Do NOT set poisoned food in there for him. He’ll eat it, run to his hole, die, and really fuck up your air quality!

I never knew a little mouse could stink so fucking bad!

4

I feel your pain. We also have mice. It’s too bad that we have to kill them, because they’re awfully cute - when they’re not in my house, eating god knows what.

Come to think of it, I really don’t know what the little bastards are eating. The only evidence we have seen (besides themselves) is poop. No chewed-on anythings.

We’ve got two no-kill box traps (that they won’t go near, btw - don’t bother), and four snap-traps. Someone suggested glue traps, but I just can’t imagine allowing something to starve to death when it can be over quickly with one snap, or Dave can take it a couple of streets over and let it go in the field.

5

Aww, that’s so sweet! And humane!

By all means, be sure to be humane to the little fucker.

And while doing so, remember that it doesn’t open just one package and eat the whole thing. No, it takes one nibble out of every single thing you have, therefore ruining everything. It also leaves little turds everywhere. And turns grown men into screaming little girls.

Be inhumane, I say. Let the little fur-wearing bitch starve to death. Pull its little limbs off while laughing maniacally. Shave it and force it to walk around in front of its peers. Force it to watch an episode of The Swan.

This is war, people. Show no mercy.

6

Letting a mouse starve to death in a glue trap is inhumane. Euthanizing a mouse caught in a glue trap with a ball-peen hammer isn’t.

I hate mice.

7

You got something against woodchippers, then?

8

It’s moot anyway. The little bastards avoid the box traps. Dave watched one run back and forth past one three times the other day. Fuckers.

9

We’ve got mice and ants coming in under the same sink at the moment. We can’t let them hang around, so the two species are conspiring to gross us out as much as they possibly can on their way out. The mice keep trying to get into the little ant poison motel thingy, so somewhere, we’re going to have dead poisoned mice in the walls. Lovely. We also set mousetraps (snap type), catch a mouse, and in the morning find…ant covered dead mouse. Looooovely.

10

How do you know there’s only one? :eek:

11

I’ve had great luck using Reeses Peanut butter cups as bait. I get the minis and melt them to a gooey mess and put a dollup on as bait. HTH

12

Nada the cat is quite annoyed when I take one from her and release it.
I found a head one the floor once. Just the head, I persume she ate the rest.
One ungratefull little bastard bit me when I rescued him from her. Not that it was all that painfull. He gave me his best shot, I’ll give him that. No bite and run, bite and chew and chew and chew. Which is sort of like being attacked on a tiny spot by the finest grain sandpaper available.
But I digress.
They seem to have gotten the word and are staying away from the deadly cat.

13

Some tips from a master (approximately 100+ kills over 30 years) with the “tried and true” snap traps…

  1. Use them in pairs, usually facing in opposite directions. Have bait side of the traps facing away from each other. Create a “walled walkway” where you know the mouse frequents and set the traps in there where they have no choice but to walk through the area (usually the same width of the traps). Then cover up any escape routes with rugs, towels, tape…whatever will force temporary a new escape/feeding route that includes your little walled walkway.

  2. Wait for the snapping sound.

  3. Grin.

  4. Dislodge Limpy from the trap.

  5. Continue the cycle of life by putting the little bastard out for the ravens.

14

blush I am honoured. It’s not every day I am compared to the inimitable Master Wang-Ka.

Heh, I like the way you think! We tried to find those sticky glue pads, but the stores just don’t stock them. Plus, as someone else has pointed out, as much as I hate the little fuckers, I don’t want them to die a slow and painful death. And imagine ripping the little bastards off the piece of sticky paper! EWWWW!

Meanwhile, we have caught Mickey. The temptation of parmesan-covered peanut butter and noodles was too much for him. The problem is, it appears we have a Son Of Mickey. Little fuckers have bred!

I came home the other day, after a long day of fantasising about eating the Mac and Cheese I bought after the Death Of Mickey. I opened the cupboard confidently, smug in the fact that my drygoods were safe. Ha. I picked up that pack of Mac and Cheese and half of it fell out of a mouse-sized house.

“You little shit!” I swore and cursed. MaxBabe looked up with a puzzled look on her face. I waved the holey packet at her. “It’s back! It’s fucking back! That or it’s the fucking ghost of Mickey come to haunt us and our food!”. Gobsmacked, she examined the packet and groaned, resigned to the fact that the ordeal was not yet over.

“We’ll have to get some more traps” she said, not trusting the original traps we’d laid (not the ones that caught Mickey, ones we’d laid before those). “Yes, honey”, I muttered, trying not to cry over the loss of my pre-packaged pasta.

The next day, I went to work, bided my time for 10 hours, then came home. The dogs were happy, the weather was cool and pleasant, and the house was quiet. I walked past the pantry to examine the contents of the refridgerator. Despite KNOWING what’s in the fridge, it’s a necessary part of my day to actually EXAMINE it. One never knows when some nice little treat will decide to manifest itself on those cold, dry shelves.

Half-way to the fridge, I stopped. Son Of Mickey was on my mind, and I wondered… it’s been quiet… it’s peaceful… it’s dark in that cupboard… just the sort of thing a mouse would like.

Silently, I opened that cupboard door. I looked past MaxBabe’s gnawed tub of SuiMin noodles, and saw a long tail. Ahhh yes, Son of Mickey, you have finally been sighted. Better yet, you don’t know you’ve been sighted. Yet.

Having learnt from my experience with Mickey, I knew better than to pause and admire the superb specimen of mouse before me. With the speed of a thousand cocaine-sniffing cheetahs, I pushed every single item in that pantry and jammed Son Of Mickey up against the pantry wall with it. Secretly I was hoping one of the tins would’ve crushed his verminous body against the wall and that I would hear one final squeak before he gave up the ghost. No such luck.

However, Son of Mickey realised the jig was up. He knew he couldn’t go left. He knew he couldn’t go right. The only place to go was up on top of the tins, or down to the next level in the pantry. I had both bases covered. I was watching, to see which way he’d go, my heart pounding as I steeled myself for what was coming.

Son Of Mickey jumped up, onto the tins. I could see the look of fear in his verminous eyes. He knew it was just a matter of time. And so did I.

I grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a large spoon, and threw it at him. He ran to the other side of the pantry, where a tin of peeled tomatoes was already on its way to meet him. It was only by some stroke of mousey fortune that it whistled past his head. Son Of Mickey had now learnt the one of the most important rules of engagement: standing on top of something tall REVEALS you to the world. He was a sitting target.

With this in mind, Son Of Mickey predictably headed down. Problem is, “down” is into the dog food area. Lots of cover there, and I couldn’t see Mickey. I stood back for a minute and rolled up a newspaper. I was armed and dangerous, and had a mission to accomplish.

Once again, I summonned the cocaine-sniffing cheetahs and grabbed a 20Kg box of dog kibbles like it was tissue paper and threw it out of the pantry. I could see the “Oh shit!” look in Mickey’s gleaming eyes. He had met a worthy opponent, and didn’t he know it.

Problem is, when a mouse is in the open, it can be FAST. The look of realisation came across both our faces when this fact dawned on us. He tore across the pantry and ran into his hidey hole underneath it, just as the rolled-up newspaper thumped onto the ground next to him. Little fucker. And fuck my piss-poor reflexes too! :smack:

“I can’t believe you did that!”, exclaimed MaxBabe as I retold the tale. She looked worried as she saw the gleam in my eyes. I do believe it was bloodlust, and MaxBabe saw it. To see that look on the face of someone so passive and gentle surely must’ve scared her. I calmed myself down and we sat to watch some TV.

Still, we had extra traps - despite the fact that MaxBabe didn’t trust them. I loaded them up, then realised… if I tweak the trigger just right, I can make these traps MUCH more sensitive. Hence I once again brought out the peanut butter and smeared it on, then decorated it with dried noodles, just for variety. Hey, if Son Of Mickey’s going to have his last meal, it might as well be a good one, right?

So… here we wait, patiently, once again. We know it’s just a matter of time until Son Of Mickey is tempted. His days are numbered. He knows it. So do we. And still, I have that gleam in my eye. Little fucker had better sit down for that two-course meal soon. I can’t let MaxBabe see this look again!!

15

Calm yourself.
Find a good book.
Call your Minister, Rabbi, or Physician.

16

We had a mouse in our house who took up residence in the cupboard beneath our kitchen sink. I took a chance one day and thoroughly cleaned out the cupboard and not finding him, I determined that he/she retreated back though the space open around the water pipes.

Problem would be solved! I filled the space with very fine steel wool. Since mice don’t like the feel of that on their teeth, no more mice!

No poisons, traps, or unnecessary violence is needed. :cool:

17

Maxxxie, this is so close to something I’d expect to read in an early Stephen King short story, that I hope you write one yourself and let us in on it! I’m thinking of lines in that tone from Ladyfingers, Cat’s Eye, Road Work,etc.

Sorry Master Wang-Ka, but you need to step it up before losing a fan. :smiley:

(Side note: regardless of the issue, I’d love to see these two join forces for a full-out pitting.)

One more note. Maxxxie, can I use cocain-sniffing cheetahs in a sig line? I’ll run the final draft past you first, if you like.

18

I asked an exterminator once if mice will get on you while you’re sleeping.
He adamantly maintained that yes, they will- they’ll even get on your face!! :eek:
Ever since that conversation I freak out if I even THINK there’s a mouse in the house. Ew.

19

Wow, I never imagined ANYONE would want to quote me! By all means, use it in your sig! But I think the spelling is cocaine - I don’t want people seeing your sig and thinking I can’t spell :slight_smile:
I have an update on the Family of Mickey story.

Son of Mickey is dead! It seems he could not resist the allure of the noodle-covered peanut butter. And true to my prediction, the “high-sensitivity” version of my trap worked! W00t!

And now for the bad news. There is Mickey III. I cannot fucking believe this. Well, really I can… but… I am currently in a state of denial. What is this, the fucking Mousecapades? Am I to be treated to a string of mice? The fucking Mouseketeers perhaps?

Right now, I’m imagining a fucking Can-Can chorus line of dancing mice under my house, arms linked as they perform a little burlesque show to their mousey friends. I can almost hear them singing the Can-Can song in their highpitched mousey voices, chugging a beer with their verminous comrades. Bastards.

I’m not looking forward to telling MaxBabe about this. Today it will be my mission to travel under the bowels of my house and to find the House Of Mickey. Yes, I shall brave the evil spiders, the dust, dirt, grime and general disgustingness that resides under the house. Og help me if I should find some other creature down there.

Upon discovering their nest, their foul House Of Sin, I shall take it upon myself to rend it inoperable. In short, I’m out for the kill. Nothing will stand in my way today. I am resolute that this saga will END!

Wish me luck Dopers. I’m about to travel into a seedy underworld. In it, who knows what I shall find? And I tell you now - if it’s a fucking Can-Can chorus line, I won’t be stopping to admire the show. I will not be asking for autographs. Those bastards won’t have time to order one last round. They’d better enjoy the show while it lasts, because I can hear the final curtain call.

20

I’m blaming the drought. We’ve had terrible mouse issues since February. I think I’ve conquered the little bastards now though as of Friday there have been no new droppings.

The final scion of the Micro Mice family died when Bob the Cat started pawing at the sideboard, I pulled it out and he pounced. Then he killed the mouse and sang Songs of Great Hunting Prowess for several hours until I threw a bucket of water at him.

We did the mouse poison thing for weeks but all it did was give the mice material to drag around and crap out in disgusting locations.