September 21, 2003

• Little Problems

  Cathy was waiting by the door when I arrived home after work a couple of nights ago. It was no great surprise. I had been expecting it ... and what followed:

  
  

  "Daddy, will you do us -- Mommy and I -- a favor?"

  
  

  "No." I knew what the favor was to be. Delia had been screaming about an invasion of mice. She had run out and purchased poison and traps. Neither Cathy nor Delia had been able to load or set the traps, so I had done it for them. Obviously one or more of them had worked and they wanted me to unload the result.

  
  

  "Please, Daddy. There's a dead mouse under the sink and I don't want Rocky to play with it."

  
  

  It was a small mouse, a juvenile. The bail of the trap had hit it on the chest, probably breaking its back and a bunch of ribs. It had escaped from the trap itself, bled profusely over a wide area and expired a short distance from the trap. I tossed it into an empty Pringles container and took it out to the garbage can.

  
  

  Last night was a repeat, except that the mouse was bigger, the bail had hit it behind the head, breaking its neck, and it stayed in the trap. However, Rocky had found the trap and carried it all over the house, finally depositing it under the dining room table. Big mouse followed little mouse but without the benefit of a can for a coffin.

  
  

  This morning Delia decided that the traps needed to be reset. It didn't matter that there were still four traps set, she wanted the two traps that had worked back in service. When she left for work, I loaded them with bait (salami) and set them in their original locations, then I headed off to work myself.

  
  

  I wonder what I'll find when I get home this time.

  • 01:43
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