real mouse in Marie's houseI had hoped another Mousecapades would be in the distant future, but alas, it was not to be. The bastards seem to be determined to try my patience and ingenuity. It’s been less than two months since the last batch was banished. Sigh.


My first clue was the pantry. Small nibbles had been taken out of the poison. Not seeing any damage, I procrastinated. Then, when the rodent managed to take a healthy helping of my belVita Breakfast Bars I fumed, telling my husband, “They’re BAACK.” He simply didn’t believe me; we’d just gotten rid of the last intruders.

It’s so hot out there, that creatures great and small wish to partake in the air conditioning. And, I apparently have the best bed and breakfast (and lunch and dinner) place in Muldoon.

I coaxed my husband into smearing the peanut butter on and setting the traps. As usual, I’m looking over his shoulder, telling him there was too much gooey stuff. He disagreed; I set the snares out.

Two days later. Curses. Foiled again. They had licked the bait right off both traps. Now aware that they were indeed lurking, I took over the baiting myself, being stingy with the goo. With one in the pantry and one in the sweet spot (under the island across from the kitchen sink), I was hopeful.


Sure enough, I rose the next morning to find the go-to trap sprung…. But wait…. What? No mouse carcass? How could this be? I checked the pantry then returned. Finally looking around, I realized the mouse was sitting no more than three feet from me.


So, I did what any aspiring blogger would do, took a picture of the monster who had been terrorizing me. Then, he turned his head. Oh, crap! …. Not dead…. Apparently its close brush with the contraption merely left him stunned.

True confession: All other pictures I have used of mice have been off the internet. The one you see before your eyes is the real cigar.

Now, if you have followed my tale of woe, you know that I once beat a mouse to death with a broom. Something I’m not proud of and my behavior has haunted me since. But at least that mouse was running, my purpose was merely to stop his escape into the deeper recesses of my abode.

But this one was big, barely moving. Then, as usual, my husband and I fell into a discussion (no, argument) about how to handle the situation. All the while he reminds me that he can’t do it. While I know this in the recesses of my brain, I rebel.

A glove? Really are you f….ng crazy? You want me to put on a glove and pick up a live mouse?

Desperate, I opened the back door for quick and easy disposal, then pulled out the broom and dustpan. With one fell swoop I dove at my opponent. But, alas, he was too wily, managing to wiggle out from under the broom and escaping under the kitchen cabinets.

Despair reigned. An injured mouse antagonizing me by dying somewhere in the recesses of the cabinets. Déjà vu.


About two hours later I was standing at the kitchen table when my eye caught sight of a bundle of fur streaking to the floor air conditioner register a foot away from me. He scrambled down the hole. Ha! I thought. Got you, sucker.

You see, my husband had purchased fancy wooden registers and I had tacked mesh to the underside to keep the creatures from coming in. I grabbed the register, ready to rush out the door.


Mice and company had managed to pull the mesh away from the nails, leaving room to scamper to safety.

Before you could say lickety-split, I had that mesh nailed down as tight as a drum. All’s quiet on the Western Front—so far. Hopefully, I’ll have the last laugh.

As disgusting as the mouse stuff is, it’s better than other Texas women are faring, with snakes in the toilet and snakes falling from the sky.


In case you missed my other run-ins with the frustrating rodents, you’ll find the links below.

Mousecapades: 1 Gross Out

Mousecapades: 1 Bitter Defeat

Mousecapades A Dustup

Mousecapades: The Finale?

Mousecapades Redux

Mousecapades 2020

More Mousecapades



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