The Great Mouse Detective

So as usual, I promise to blog more only to do my usual one post per month. Get in and get out. It's a shame because I have great ideas to write about during my day, however after the commute home in pitch-black London fog, I lose my gusto to write. So again, I am losing my fan base faster than a Lost-J.J. Abrams hiatus. For that I am sorry.

I guess I just need to be truly inspired or compelled to write something and here it is...a sweet nugget of a tale that just popped up in my life.

I got a text from Mr. Bond on Thursday that read something like, "hey darling hope you have a great day, can't wait to see you tonight. By the way, some bad news, we have mice. Talk later." Oh ok, we have mice. Thanks Bond. Is that a British term for dust bunnies? Are the mice frozen because you have purchased a larger reptile that needs mice to eat to survive? Are we in the business of mice? I, of course call to clarify only to hear Bond confirm a terrible fear that we in fact have mice infesting the house as evidenced by a chewed-through bin bag on the floor and a pretend sighting of the mouse scampering across the kitchen. (Bond swears he saw the mouse, however stories keep changing under pressure and I am certain the sighting was created to add credibility to a shady encounter).

I have now reached THE greatest dilemma of my adult life which intersects my beliefs in a germ-free living space and an animals-have-souls philosophy. Let me remind you of an earlier post where I apologize to my old and decrepit stuffed animal when he/she falls onto the floor in the night. I still have dreams that Strawberry is just hiding in the closet and I will open it to be reunited with that sweet smell of old cat dander. Of course I realize that if something isn't done, our flat will become something like Apocalypse Now where I enter the room only to find Bond huddled on the tile kitchen floor surrounded by rows of mice on the countertops, fridge, and cupboards - all sporting red bandanas and bows and arrows made from toenail clippings and staples. So I ask around the workplace and hear of this fantastic option to simply buy a high-pitched noisemaker that emits a whistle sound, out of range for human ears, the mice don't like so they kindly pack their cheese and go.

So when I get home before Bond, I inspect the area and do in fact find evidence of critters (small bag nibbles) but no droppings or fur. I have deduced that they have only taken residence in the last 24 hours as we left the bag on the floor the day before to leave more room for rubbish. (This should be an entirely other blog entry where I comment that bin bags are made to hold 3 times the amount of waste that a can holds and what a waste of a earth-destroying plastic only for a few items). Bond comes home and decides to spend our Friday night cleaning from top to bottom with bleach (appreciated, but having owned mice I am not too bothered, and would rather them join us on the couch for a few episodes of Modern Family and a bottle of wine).

Anyway, there have been no further sightings of mice and I have now deemed in my head (not in Bond's) that a high-pitched noise-maker would be equally as cruel as we do not know how painful this will be for said critters. Having removed all sources of mouse attraction, I am certain they will not return. However, last night around 3am I woke up worrying whether or not the mice would have enough food to last the winter. It is snowing here in London now, and they might not have anywhere to go outside of our humble yet welcoming flat. I had to stop myself from leaving a small sliver of cheese in the crack of our wall. Again guilt plays on my mind as my childhood flashbacks of Muppets Christmas Carol enters my conscious; "No cheeses for us meeses."

Possible other sources of this guilt:
- reading books such as School Mouse, Mouse and the Motorcycle, the Witches, and Desperaux during critical growth periods
- owning mice - three beautiful bundles of piss, Toonce, Magillicutty, and Johnson
- watching a documentary on mice brains waves in university (they THINK like US)
- definitely reading above-mentioned books

All I can picture now are a family of mice wearing tiny hats, with over-sized ears popping out from under them, riding around on my electric toothbrush, and typing emails to their friends on my mac when I am at work. Who could kill/pierce their ears with noise?

House mice - friend or foe...you be the judge.