Relocation

Lord have mercy, the life I lead.

I now have three, in three rooms, high-pitched plug-in electronic thingies apparently sounding the "so high you can't hear it" charge to keep Walter the Mouse and his ilk out of my house. Since I plugged these devices into my walls, I've seen, each night, Walter scurrying from under my refrigerator to under my stove, from the back of my stove around the corner into the dennette, and I once heard him rustling in the wastebaket in my bedroom.

However, I haven't seen a single tarantula since I plugged these things in.

Anyway, I really don't hate Walter, in fact, I almost feel sorry for the little guy, and that's why I decided not to internally combust him with rat poison or snap his neck in an old-fashioned rat trap. But God help me, I just can't be happy living with rodentia running around my Poderosa. And though I know there is probably no malice in his little rat head, every time I see him pitty-patting through the kitchen it's just a little bit like he's rubbing his existence in my face.

And so last night I got a little more tenacious. I got out one of my "Nobel Prize for Humanitarianism" no-kill mouse traps and decided to give it a go. And realized very quickly that humanitarianism is probably the only area in which I might win the Nobel Prize.

This trap was a little like, and by that I of course mean exactly like, a Greek Math Pyramid Puzzle. It was a box with a slide-open top, only the top wasn't so easily slid, and the instructions printed in raised lettering on the bottom of the box, in real letters but "braille" was all I could think of because the letters weren't painted or anything, they were the same green plastic that the box was, so you basically had to feel them to get the instructions. There was a silver plank and a silver "door" that closed but not all the way, and, well, this thing was just not...it was just not.

It was not what I'd call a mouse trap.

The raised lettering on the bottom of the box told me to put some bait (they recommended peanut butter) in the bait trough, which meant little to me because they didn't tell me where the fucking bait trough was, but there was a little dip in one corner of the box and I dropped a morsel of Jif in it. ("Choosy mice choose Jif!") And I slid the top back over the bottom, and when I did that the little door that was supposed to go against the wall, well, I realized it wasn't so much a door as a hallway, because it was a straight shot out to the other side of the box with nary a turn sign into the trap.

I swear to you, folks, this was like a prison break, and when I say prison break I mean like Walter breaking into prison, the logistics of this mouse trap.

But I did it anyway, because I was desperate. I want to clean my kitchen, and I never want to be awakened by rustling paper in my wastebasket again.

About a half-hour after I set the whole mousetrap game up (you know, maybe I should have done that - bought the game Mousetrap and let it fly), who should come scurrying from behind my stove but Walter. Who took one look at the dark green plastic box, stood as if to say, "Well!" and promptly turned back around and scurried behind the stove. Yeah, this was going real good.

I went about living a normal life, doing some laundry, bathing, and watching some television, and every time I'd go into the kitchen to get a drink or a snack, I'd turn on the light and kick at the plastic box. Nothin'.

I got up at 5:30 this morning to get something to drink, and before I ambled back off to bed I kicked at the box. Nothin'. I turned on the light for a better look. Nothin'. Apparently Walter's tuition at Junior Mouse College was money well spent, or my cash at the Home Improvement Store was money badly spent.

I looked this morning when I got up to start getting ready for work. Nothin'. I got my little flashlight and looked through the dark green plastic of the box. Nothin'. And I said, "Well, this is about the dumbest four bucks I've ever spent," and as I did I picked the box up and turned it over.

And there inside was Walter.

I got so skeeved out that I actually shrieked and dropped the box, but thankfully that little silver door that wouldn't close all the way closed enough, and Walter stayed inside. I started pacing around the kitchen a little like Prissy in "Gone With the Wind," wringing my hands and crying, "What am I gonna do, what am I gonna do?" but I gathered myself back up rather nicely, I thought, which was especially good since I didn't have anyone there to slap my face but Walter, and he was locked in the box.

I got my coffee ready, took it, my handbag, and my keys out to podmobile2, and started the car and had it running. Then I picked up a plastic grocery bag, set the dark green box holding a seriously lethargic-looking Walter inside it, and headed out to the car. I don't know why I figured this would all go so much easier if I already had my car running in the driveway, like a getaway vehicle. I think it was because there was a point in the proceedings where I actually started to worry about Walter. He wasn't thrashing around like I was expecting he'd be. He was just lolling around in that box. And so I became an ER paramedic - "We've got to get him out of here now! Clear!"

Anyway, I loaded the Waltered plastic bagged plastic box into the floor of the car and headed south. And I gotta tell you, my friends, I came an ace of unloading Walter at the local Hardee's. I figured, "Hey, he'd be happy there, and Mr M would love that I ratted up a Hardee's," but I couldn't do it, for no other reason than the Hardee's was too close to my house. And mice might have memories.

So I went to an abandoned grocery store on the outskirts of town and pulled into the parking lot. The parking lot turns into a nice grassy area, on the other side of which is an office building owned by the creature who opposed me in the town re-zoning debacle some years ago, and so I figured that was the perfect place to let Walter begin his new life. I took the plastic box out of the bag, carefully slid the top open, and - basically all hell broke loose.

Walter hopped out like he'd been shot out of a cannon, but he didn't go into the grass like I was wanting. He headed out into the empty parking lot and towards my car - which had an open passenger side door from where I'd taken Walter out in the first place. I decided then and there that if Walter hopped back into my car I was immediately driving it to the nearest dealership and trading it in for something else, but Walter missed the door and kept running through the parking lot like a mouse possessed. He was still doing it as I drove off.

So long, Walter. I hope you left no friends or relatives behind. I still have one more live plastic box mouse trap, so if you did I'll be ready. And I'm making an outright confession to you all right here and now. If I have to go through this again, I don't think I'm letting Mr Mouse out of the box. I'm throwing it in a dumpster somewhere, and he'll either starve or suffocate or die of boredom.

And I'll give back my Nobel Prize for Humanitarianism.