Mouse House

We have a mouse. That's what you get when you leave the patio doors wide open to enjoy the ocean breeze on warm summer evenings. I made the discovery yesterday when I noticed a large chunk missing from a loaf of bread. Don't get me wrong, a mouse in the house is gross. But I've gotten much more relaxed about things like this. I see the barn cat kill mice all the time when I'm at the stables. Rodents are part of ranch life. Of course, that doesn't mean I want one in the house and eating my bread.

The Wrangler is on mouse patrol. He's done this once before, a couple Octobers ago when a mouse broke in and ate all our Halloween candy. I don't mean to criticize my better half, but it must be said that Operation Mighty Mouse wasn't the smoothest or most aggressive campaign. The soft-hearted Wrangler's weapon of choice is the catch-and-release trap, which provided our clever guest with many delightful appetizers (cheese, crackers, candy) but did not, uh, do the trick. After a week of empty traps and stolen bait, the Wrangler was forced to admit that the catch-and-release traps were doing nothing more than just feeding the fellow.

He conceded that it was time to move on to a traditional snap trap. At bedtime, I'd corral the puppies into the bedroom while the Wrangler set the traps in the living room and kitchen. During the next 20 minutes, the puppies and I would hear a SNAP! and then the Wrangler shouting "ouch!" Then another SNAP! and the Wrangler's "arghh!" And yet another SNAP! followed by a "darn it!" (Unlike this urban cowgirl who's been known to launch a few decidedly non-ladylike words on occasion, the genteel Wrangler does not swear.) I kid you not, our late sweet Doberman Como actually turned to me, rolled her eyes, and mouthed the word, "dufus." We weren't sure whether it was the Wrangler or Homer Simpson in our kitchen trying to set a snap trap.

Flash forward to the present. We now are on Night 2 of our ground war. Here's hoping it's over in a...snap.