Super Mice

I think Douglas Adams may have been right. Mice are the supreme beings on Earth, and are just screwing with us humans for fun.

A day or two ago, I discovered mouse droppings in various places in my house. Naturally, I wanted to get rid of them, so I went to Target to purchase some form of mouse-genocide equipment.

Now days, they have more "humane" traps available, which are anything but. There are the sticky traps, where the mouse gets stuck in an uncomfortable position, tries to free itself and usually rips off some of its own fur and skin in the process, only to get re-stuck to it and slowly starve to death. I think I'll pass on that one, since it's probably more likely that I'll end up getting it stuck to myself at some point.

Then there are the "box" style traps, which are essentially a standard mousetrap encased in a box, so that you don't have to see the carcass. These are more expensive and obviously made for pussies. Pass.

Lastly, there is the poison. Poison sounds good because it will take it back to its little mouse family, feed it to its little mouse wife and kids, then they will all die a violent, agonizing death as the poison eats away at their stomach. But that's not all. With the poison, you have the pleasure of smelling their rotting bodies for a little while afterward. On second thought... Pass.

Considering these options, I opted for the simplest, cheapest, don't-fix-what-ain't-broke regular old wooden mousetraps. Upon arriving home, I gleefully unwrapped the trap package, eager to kill some small rodents. I spread some peanut butter on the trap, and attempted to set it. This sort of process invariably results in at least one misfire, and in this case, it launched the dollop of peanut butter onto Elizabeth's toes. After a couple more attempts to set up the trap just right, I placed two armed traps at various high-mouse-traffic locations (as indicated by the larger quantities of mouse-poop). I then left the traps set and went to bed, laughing myself to sleep like a deranged scientist sociopath.

This morning I dashed over to the living room to check the mousetrap behind the end-table, and that's when I discovered it. I am not dealing with any ordinary mouse. My house is infested with super-intelligent fricking ninja-mice. The bait was gone, but the trap was not tripped.

All your bait are belong to us.

Impossible!! So let me get this straight... Either the mouse sprung the trap with a stick, ate the bait, then re-set it (unlikely), or it managed to eat a dab of sticky, gooey peanut butter off of a trip-plate that would activate the trap if you breathed on it??? I feel like Bill Murray from Caddyshack! Hmm... That gives me an idea for phase 2...