Last week, as I walked out of the house and into the garage, I saw a tiny streak of black running through the garage. I dropped whatever I was holding (probably a bag of garbage) and jumped back into the house.
No. No. Please don’t let that be what I think it was! No No NO! Because what I saw was either a mouse or a very large, very fast spider. I was hoping for the spider.
I went back inside to the supposed safety of the house and informed my husband that I was pretty sure I had just seen a mouse, and we would either have to get a cat, clean out the garage, or move.
You may think I’m overreacting on this little issue, but I’m not. Let me take you back a few years and fill you in on our history with the disgusting little creatures.
(Now the fog appears as we go to this flashback in time. Or, we could just have the words “ten years earlier” like they do all the time on Heroes.)
About ten years ago, when we only had two little kids, we decided to up and move our little family to Illinois. Ryan had a consulting job with Illinois power, and we thought it would be an adventure to move to the midwest for a year or so while he did the job. Plus, there were some pretty nice financial compensations to entice us to move, so we decided to go. Since we weren’t planning on staying there for very long, we looked for a renter for our house. My cousin had just gotten married, and he and his wife decided to rent our house while we were gone. We gave them a good deal on the rent, and they didn’t mind that we left our stuff in the unfinished basement. It made the move a lot simpler to not have to worry about moving our food storage, unopened wedding gifts, boxes of book, holiday items and the like. We packed those things into the basement, and packed up the rest of the stuff and took it with us. In fact, we packed our CAR into the large truck, then they built a wall, and we packed the rest of the stuff in the second half, to tell you the truth.
The job out there actually only lasted 7 or 8 months, and then it was time to move back again. I’m sure my cousin wasn’t too thrilled with moving out of the house, but they knew it was just a temporary thing, and they graciously moved out so that we could move back in.
Once we got ourselves settled back in our own home, we realized we had some unwelcome visitors. It started with some suspicions whenever we’d go down to get something out of the storage area. There it was, the tell tale mouse poops on the shelf. Then we’d discover the entire box of granola bars–empty. Sugar and flour strewn across the shelf. Living in a dream world, we hoped that there had been mice, but they had all left. Ryan set some traps. When I saw one of the creatures run across the floor, I had a little caniption fit.
More and more traps were set, until Ryan had trapped and killed at least a dozen mice in the basement. He also discovered their secret entry way into the house–the foundation zigged where the framing zagged, and there was an open overhang where the tiny troublesome creatures could easily gain access to the basement, and therefore the rest of the house. That corner was fixed, more traps were set, and eventually we felt like the house was livable once again.
Back to the present–I am NOT going through that again. When I complained to my dear hubby, he informed me that HE was the one setting all the traps and disposing of the deceased critters, and I did none of the dirty work. But I had to LIVE in the house that was infested with rodents! With my little kids. I lived in fear that one of those disgusting things would bite us, or we would all catch the Hanta virus and die! And NO, I’m not overreacting. So, when I discovered that streak of fur, it was like reliving the nightmare. And in order to not let that happen again, I suggest we get a cat. Or borrow a cat. Or rent a cat. Something with a cat.
Of course, that idea doesn’t go over real well with Ryan, who is allergic to cats, and he doesn’t believe that I could get an OUTSIDE cat and not let it come in the house. But I’ve talked to lots of people who say that cats CAN live outside, and they won’t die. Besides, if we don’t name it, we won’t get attached to it, and then if it decides to run away or dies, we won’t be all that sad, right?
So there you have it. Clean the garage, set traps, get a cat, or we could just move.
My daring husband set some traps in the garage on Saturday and caught ONE mouse that day. He assures me that it was just one, and the mouse problem is all over, and I don’t have to live in fear and not go in the garage anymore. But I don’t believe that it could only be one mouse, and I’m going to check into borrowing a cat while he’s at work. Cat play dates. Only we don’t have a cat for your cat to play with, only mice in the field. Or the garage.