by jphilo | Sep 19, 2009 | Daily Life
Who was the Saturday morning cartoon character who coined mouse hate talk? I may not remember, but I agree whole-heartedly. I hate mieces to pieces, too. The little varmints haven’t been my favorite animal for a long, long time, not since the charm of Stuart Little and The Mouse and the Motorcycle during the infamous bedroom closet mouse invasion of 1991.
But this afternoon when Hiram found a mouse nest on the the heating element in the air vent underneath the windshield wipers, my dislike turned to loathing. The discovery and removal of the nest, along with the extraction of two dead babies stuck to the cabin air filter, cleared up the mystery of Monday’s hitch hiking mouse. It wasn’t a hitch hiker at all, it and its family were squatters.
Well, I have never fancied myself as a landlord and don’t intend to start now. The car dealership had no idea of how to keep Mickey and Minnie from rebuilding Shantytown and a quick search of the internet turned up these suspicious and/or unsatisfactory solutions:
- Mothballs
- Live traps
- Mouse traps
- Dryer sheets
- Peppermint oil on cotton balls
- Hot pepper
- Cats
Supposedly, the mice don’t like the scent of the stinky things on the list, but neither do I. In fact, I’m allergic to several of them. Even though we’ve used so many traps we should have stock in the company, the mice invasion hasn’t ended. And while we don’t own a cat, plenty of ferrel ones hang around the place, and they haven’t kept the mice at bay either.
So I’m thinking Hiram’s gonna have a whole lot of fun transforming the Corolla into a cat mobile. While he’s doing that, I’ll get Anne to whip up my slinky new Cat Woman outfit. That should scare the mieces to pieces, don’t you think?
by jphilo | Sep 15, 2009 | Out and About
Yesterday morning, I packed the car and hopped in, grateful for a road trip away from the rodent war zone. But I should have known that if a church service wasn’t safe from the little critters, nothing was sacred.
My drive from home to northwest Iowa, where I have some radio interviews and speaking engagements for the next few days, was uneventful until my brief stop at an internet coffee shop in Cherokee. Imagine my surprise when I lifted my computer case from the floor of the front passenger seat and saw a gray, hairless, and very still baby mouse on the mat.
How it got there is a mystery to me. It wasn’t there the day before yesterday when Hiram washed and vacuumed the car. It wasn’t there Monday morning when I loaded everything into it. Did it crawl out from under the mat? Or did I set the computer case on the garage floor while I packed and inadvertently pick up my defenseless and now very dead passenger.
All those thoughts raced through my head while I considered how to dispose of the body. The day was warming up, and the situation would get ripe quickly without immediate action. A long funeral service was out, since I had another thirty miles to drive and a radio interview in less than an hour. I didn’t have a matchbox with me so a fancy coffin was out, too.
So, I went into shop’s bathroom and washed my hands thoroughly. Then I ordered lunch and white while taking care of my email, all the while stockpiling napkins for a death shroud. It sounds callous and cold, but that’s life in a war zone. Meal finished, I marched to the car and photographed the body (I wanted proof to show Hiram) before swathing it in the death shroud. Then, I looked around for a cemetery.
I couldn’t find one, so I drove off with my package on the seat beside me, praying for a burial place. Too late, I spied a trash can beside a Methodist Church, (it would have been such a nice touch), and I had resigned myself to a new career as a hearse driver. But a few blocks later, glory of glories, I spied trash bins at the end of every driveway. Hallelujah – it was garbage day! I pulled up beside a particularly attractive one and unloaded my passenger with a sigh of relief.
Hopefully, I’m safe from attack for the rest of the trip, but I as soon as I drive into town tomorrow, the troop surge begins. I’m stopping at the store to lay in a supple of mouse traps. Then I’ll enlist my husband’s support, and by nightfall, we’ll have laid a mine field.
I’m taking no prisoners. This is war.
by jphilo | Mar 10, 2009 | Daily Life
Yesterday’s blog listed the top ten differences between southern California and the Midwest. Today’s list provides unwelcome proof that March in Iowa, in strong competition with November, is the state’s least favorable month.
10. As soon as the sun starts rising at an optimistic time, Daylight Savings Time begins
and pushes dawn back an hour.
9. It has rained for five days straight. SInce today is March 10, it has rained for half the
month.
8. When the rain becomes unbearable, the snow begins.
7. The gravel road and our driveway look like something the cat drug in.
6. The mice in our garage, cowed by winter’s cold and relatively inactive, have perked up
and invaded my car again. As always, they leave Hiram’s pick up alone.
5. Our daughter is “getting away” for spring break. Apparently, even Minneapolis is more
glamorous in March than is our fair state.
4. Morning walks are gloomy. (See above picture.)
3. Hiram blanches at the mention of “FAFSA.”
2. Pretty pastel Easter decorations perpetrate the cruel hoax that spring is just around the
corner.
1. Our one warm March day pushed the daffodils above ground, but they’ve been
shivering so much since the cold return, they won’t contemplate exposing themselves
further.
There, I’ve expressed my hostility told March and feel much better. In the 21 days until April begins, I’ll keep my umbrella handy, stock up on mouse traps, and knit gloves for the daffodils. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the effort.
