On the heels of the first measurable snowfall we've had in the Putnam County area, the cold temperatures have prompted some uninvited guests into my apartment recently.
I came back from covering the North Putnam School Board Thursday evening to a mouse scurrying in my bedroom. I scared him into my closet, where he hid behind a stand-up mirror and junk stacked against the wall. He was obviously not coming out.
This is not the first time I've had a mouse in my apartment. Indeed, I found another one caught in a trap that was set some time ago with by-now hardened peanut butter.
I am decidedly not a fan of mice. I got so freaked out with the first one I found that I packed up and went to spend the night at the Selvia household. This was not the case this time, simply because I knew where he was at. Nonetheless, I called for some help.
Mom came up with new mouse traps, and we set them in the closet while the mouse was still there. Like you might trap and keep away a bat (I've had one of these up there too), I wanted to isolate this guy by closing the door and then putting a towel under it.
Closing off the closet was a measure of comfort, but there's nothing more to do except wait it out. The thing about mice is they are nimble and can get through if determined.
None of the new traps were sprung when I checked them before coming to work. What I'm most concerned about now is having a gaggle of them roaming around the place. However, these two mice could turn out to be the only ones I will see for another year.
The same thing goes for bats. There is no set schedule for them or mice invading your space when you come home. All of the previous mice have been caught while I've been away. I'll be thrilled to find this rogue one trapped; it's one less mouse to think about.
Perhaps I am thinking about this from a more psychological angle. Trying to isolate this mouse was psychological. Even though they can work, setting down those traps is psychological. This is trying to take control of the situation, even if it's not completely.
The little rover wasn't there when I went back for lunch; and he may not be caught in the next few days -- or perhaps ever. Again, this is a waiting game, and all it is going to take is a little urge of curiosity on his part. With the mouse invariably comes the cat.
The venerable Scottish bard Robert Burns had this to say in his poem "To a Mouse:"
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,/O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!/Thou need na start awa sae hasty,/Wi’ bickerin brattle!/I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee/Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I am not as sympathetic as Burns is here. All this beastie needs to do is just take advantage of that free peanut butter now sitting in the round-looking contraption.