The mouse in my house

Bwhahahahaha oh that is funny! :smiley:

I wish I had a Bob in the house. All my dogs do is run around the kitchen all antsy, their toenails clickety-clicking on the linoleum. On the first Night Of Mickey, Katie was up running around all night. I’m glad we got Mickey the second night, because I don’t think I could’ve taken another night of clickety-clickety-pant-whine-clickety-clickety-woof-sigh-whine-clickety-click!

You need a cat. A mean cat. Go to your friendly neighborhood shelter and tell them you want a cat that’s likely to mouse, and take home a stray who’s been living on what it can catch.

Give it a month. No more mice.

'Course, you have to keep the cat, and pet it, and tell it how brave it is, and feed it yummies.

Bloody fucking BRILLIANT. That is the best writing I have read in a while. I wish you luck in the seedy underworld, in which the sons and daughters of Mickey dance while eating your instant noodles.

Well, I know you’ve all been breathlessly awaiting the latest instalment in the life and times of Max’s Mouseketeers, so here it is. Sadly, Operation Can-Can revealed nothing. I think the little fuckers must’ve had a tipoff, as they were nowhere to be found. :mad:

A disclaimer: it’s been a long week. I’m tired and my brain is mush. I don’t think this post is half as funny as the others, but it represents closure for me :slight_smile:

Yesterday morning, I woke up with my stomach cramping. Damn evil KFC from the night before was making its presence felt. MaxBabe had already gone to work, so she didn’t get to enjoy the particularly seedy aromas coming from my arse. There’s nothing like a really big, stinky fart to relieve KFC-induced pain. But I digress. Despite my stomach’s complaints, I was hungry. I went to the kitchen and smiled smugly at the pantry. Since Son Of Mickey, MaxBabe and I have purchased many tupperware containers. The entirety of the food content in the pantry is now encased in plastic, and the mice had decided there was nothing left for them to eat. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen any droppings in the pantry. So it was with some horror that I pulled out the Bucket O’ Cornflakes to discover two fresh mouse turds on top of it.

I’ll admit, I must’ve used up all my ire on Mickey and Son Of Mickey, because the best I could generate was a resigned groan, and some eye-rolling. Not my best work. Once again, I got out the traps and loaded them up with peanut butter. On top of each dollop of peanut butter, I stuck a cornflake. I could appreciate the irony in that. I hoped that Mickey III would too. Having wasted my morning fucking around with mousey death devices, I was out of time for breakfast, so into the car I got, and trundled off to work.

I came home from work early yesterday. I’d been feeling a bit… umm… gastrically challenged… so felt it best to take my leave. MaxBabe wasn’t home yet, but I recalled she’d invited a friend over for coffee. Seeing the house covered in hair from the MaxMutts, I decided it was best that I vacuum. MaxBabe arrived a few moments later and went to have a nap. I went about my vacuuming (she can sleep through ANYTHING!), and lo, the carpet was good.

She woke up shortly afterwards, and headed out to her acupuncture appointment. “Don’t forget Sue’s coming over!” she hollered as she left. “Yes, honey!”, I said, reaching for the Toilet Duck. A few minutes of scrubbing later, I was satisfied the bathroom was suitable for visitors, so I came back to the lounge room.

The house was peaceful. The dogs were snoozing, and MaxBabe was out of the house. It was the time I’d been waiting for… the time to open my brand new Star Trek: Voyager Series One boxed set. Nervous hands trembled as I fumbled with the plastic. I had waited a long time for this moment. I struggled briefly with the futuristic packaging before finally unsealing it… the first time is always the hardest, so they say.

I removed the first DVD from its case and put it in the player. I laid back on the couch, tucked myself under a blanket and started watching it. Now, as much as I am a fan of Voyager, I had never before seen the first series, so my attention was fully focussed on the sounds and images before me. Sometime during the middle of the first episode, MaxBabe called. “Sue’s called me and she’s on her way, but I haven’t left the acupuncturist yet. She’ll probably get there before me, ok?”. “No worries, babe!”, said I, keen to keep the conversation brief. After all, Janeway and her away team had just been captured and I didn’t want to miss a moment of it!

Still, I took the opportunity to press Pause, and I put the MaxMutts into the bedroom. It’s never good manners to have excited dogs jumping all over visitors.

I sat down again, keen to resume. I was ready to hit Play when I saw it. Mickey III. He wandered out from behind the TV cabinet, and walked along the sideboards towards the bedrooms. Mickey III was obviously pretty focussed on things himself, because he didn’t see me. I got up, slowly, and walked towards him. I had visions of smashing him to a pulp, but I had nothing with which to smash him. The first thought that came to mind was to use a tennis racquet, but strangely enough I don’t have one sitting around in the lounge room. Next best thing - the Splatterer Of All Small Creatures: my shoe.

Mickey III turned into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I switched on the kitchen light, but it barely shed light on the subject. Further, Mickey III was hiding behind the hallway door. Holding the door open was a makeshift doorstop, one of MaxBabe’s shoes. It blocked his egress from the other side of the door, so I knew where he was. Yet, I couldn’t see him. Dammit! I backed slowly away, keeping an eye on the doorjamb. I knew he could make a break for the pantry at any time. And if he did that, once again he would get away from me, as had his predecessors. Little fuckers.

I backed up to the kitchen drawers, then opened the second one. Never once did my eye leave the doorjamb. I knew where he was. He knew I knew where he was, and he wasn’t taking any chances. I pulled my little maglite torch out, and switched it on.

I crouched down near the doorjamb and shone the torch into it. Damn my crappy eyesight, I couldn’t see dick. Just as I was crouched there, Sue arrived. “Hello!” she hollered from the front door. I don’t know what she must’ve thought to see me there, in my trackydacks, torch shining into a tiny crack, holding a shoe with my arm drawn back.

Whatever she must’ve thought, she figured out what was going on pretty quickly. “What are we killing?”, she asked, sounding a little excited about it all. “A mouse!” I exclaimed.

Suddenly, she wasn’t so excited anymore. “A mouse! You can’t kill a mouse!”, and so followed the obligatory expressions of how cute mice are. Look, you might think mice are cute, and you’re right. They’re small, furry, and scurry around as all small, furry mammals do. However they also eat everything in sight and crap everywhere. These two facts alone negate any cuteness that might otherwise be inherent. I wasn’t prepared to debate the matter with her. “Look”, I said, “you either help me out here or you sit down and shut up!”. Just as well Sue knows I meant it in the nicest possible way.

She chose the first option. I guess she wanted to see just how I might go about this task.

Once again, I crouched down, shoe at the ready. Security guard training years before had taught me how to hold a torch and a weapon at the same time, so I assumed the position. I crept slowly around the entrance of the hallway, and shone the light down. Somehow, Mickey III wasn’t really bothered by this. But he knew it was time to move. So instead of going back to the kitchen, Mickey III made the decision that would lead to his demise. You see, mice are very quick on linoleum. On carpet, however, it’s another story. Finally, Mickey III and I were on equal footing.

He climbed over MaxBabe’s shoe and into the hallway. He thought briefly about heading under the door that leads to our bedroom. Therein, the MaxMutts would’ve had a field day with him! Mickey III sniffed at the door, then thought better of it. So he continued on into the spare bedroom.

Now, the spare bedroom is where MaxBabe keeps a lot of her stuff. Clothes, travel bags, shoes etc. It also has only one entry/exit point. Mickey III didn’t know it, but he’d made a fatal mistake. “Right!” I yelled, “You’re fucked!”. As I switched the light on, my heart was pounding, and all I could think was that I’d better get this RIGHT! The last thing I wanted was for Mickey III to hide in all of MaxBabe’s stuff. He hid inside one of her shoes. Not a good move, mouse. You clearly don’t know how much MaxBabe hates you and your verminous cousins.

I, however, do. So when Mickey III made a break for it, I was ready. I threw my shoe at him, and vermin and footwear collided. The shoe bounced in one direction, and Mickey III was thrown into the air. He performed a triple somersault with pike, with a difficulty level of 7.8. He landed on his back and blinked, his little legs twitching. Frankly, if it weren’t for the shoddy dismount, I would’ve given him a 9.8.

Mickey III was down for the count, but clearly not dead. And I had a dilemma. As much as I wanted to nail Mickey III and send him to Mousey Hell, I did not want to squish him on carpet. Mouse blood and carpet are not a good combination, especially when said carpet is in MaxBabe’s room.

Sue exclaimed, “Don’t kill it! It’s not dead!”. Well, duh. Before I had a chance to do anything, she picked Mickey III up by the tail, and said “Where do you want him?”. “In the bin! The wheelie bin!”. So outside we went, and she tossed his stunned, but not lifeless, body into the bin. We figure if he survives, he’ll have a great time in there, until next bin collection day, whereupon he will be transported to the local municipal dump. And there, he will find plenty of brethren with which to share his war story. Who knows, he might even get a medal for his efforts.

Meanwhile, I was stoked! I couldn’t wait to tell MaxBabe! Sue couldn’t believe it. She appeared disgusted by my actions, and couldn’t believe I’d want to brag about it. I think she half expected me to do a war dance in the middle of the lounge room to celebrate the demise of Mickey III. I might well have too, had MaxBabe not arrived home when she did. They did the obligatory hellos, and in the back of my mind, I debated whether to tell MaxBabe about what had just transpired. I mean - it’s one thing to kill evil mice with a Verminator (hee hee, my name for a mouse trap). It’s another to actually <i>be</i> the instrument of death. So I started out tentatively.

“Honey, I saw Mickey III tonight. He was just THERE!”, I said, pointing wildly. Should I tell her? Should I keep it to myself? Would she think less of me for killing that mouse? Is Sue right about this? Have I no morals, no shame, no sense of what is right and wrong?

“I hope you killed the little fucker!” she exclaimed. God, I love that woman. :smiley:

Oh, for the love of God, that is the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time. Maxxxie, you are truly a brilliant individual. I was sitting here reading about your fight against the micey insurgency, and I swear I was hanging on every word. Bravo!!!

Yeah, or a snake. I’d reccomend a red rat snake. They make good pets, and are docile enough that it wouldn’t try and kill you if you tried to release it into the wild after it accomplished it’s mission. And a snake would have little interest in your food. Let a snake do the dirty work I say! The only downside to this would be no more funny posts from Maxxi after the mice are gone.

Just noticed that Maxxi lives in Australia. Perhaps a different snake is in order.

Get a cat! :cool:

Speaking of mouse blood on carpet. I’m not sure if I’ve told my story of the springloaded mouse lately.

But before we get to the climax, we must start at the begininng, I had a huge mouse problem. I set out snappy traps and caught like 14 that way. But all had had done was to force evolve the species, into a super mouse that laughed in the face of the trap, tripped it and started on dinner.

Then I moved to glue traps. Fuck cruelty, those things work. Score another 6 for my side.

But I was left with the elite of the elite. Special forces mice, that required hand to hand combat.

The first one was over-confident and strolled into my kitchen during the day. He however didn’t realize that the microwave he walked behind was an ambush. One cheetah like leap and the microwave crushed his puny little body.

The next one made the mistake of being in no-mammal’s-land when I came down for a midnight snack. I turned on the light, and there he was sneaking along the back edge to my counter top. We both realized his mistake that he had left himself no escape, as I was closer to his base than he was, and he had no contingency escape route. When I blocked the path back, he jumped onto the counter. Where I tried a whack-a mole routine on him with a mag-lite. I never hit him, until I just made a sweep with it. He richoched off the back wall and slid toward the front. He grabbed onto the edge for just a second before falling, which was his fatal mistake. It gave me time to calculate his trajectory, and even before he hit the ground I made contact with the bottom of my shoe and squished him like a cockroach.

The third(and as it turns out final) mouse decided to take a more direct approach. I had fallen asleep on my couch. when I felt something on my shoe. A quick little kick, and I saw a mouse flying and bounce off the wall. I levered myself off the couch and litterally did a head first dive toward him. I managed to grap his tail and with the furor of war yanked him back toward me. He also had a bit of adreniline, and hung on for dear life in my carpet. His tail pulled off at the base, and he shot forward, tumbing at high speed, with blood splurting out all over the place. He hit the wall hard enough to stun himself, and I sprung over to grab the little bastard. I will not recount my next actions as they may be admitting to war crimes. But lets just say acouple birds feasted on live mouse that night.

Wolfman, oh yuck! But, on the other hand, oh yes! LOL I like someone who’s hands-on when it comes to this sort of problem.

In fact, your antics remind me of a documentary I watched once. There was this factory somewhere in Europe (Poland maybe?), that was just infested with rats. They called in a rat specialist. This guy was a watchmaker, but loved killing rats in his spare time. The problem was so bad, people were actually begging him to give up his day job!

Anyway, he got most of them with poison. He’d leave piles of food out for days, teaching the rats to get comfortable with eating what he gave them. Then finally on day 7, he just put poison there instead. The rats ate it up and promptly died.

Most of the remainder, he set traps for and they were nailed pretty quickly. But, as with your collection, he had to deal with the Special Forces of the rattus rattus. In other words, the rats who were too wary to eat his poison and too smart to set off the traps.

With these rats, he used a fishing rod and line. He attached a juicy morcel to the hook, and waited. And waited. And waited. For DAYS, he waited. He didn’t sleep, he didn’t move, he didn’t eat, drink, anything.

And finally, King Rat came out and started nibbling. He hooked that rat like a fish, then slammed its verminous body against the wall. End of problem!

The doco was very interesting, and in fact I’ve stumbled on it twice whilst channel surfing. But it was never in the TV guide. I guess it’s not something you’d want the kiddies to see!

I wonder if that guy ever did give up his day job? He was awfully good at rat-killing.