I like to make up silly rhymes for various situations in which I find myself.  When I’m walking Yogi and he’s sniffing around, I chant: “I / need you / to do / the poo.”  I don’t know that it actually motivates him to do his business but it sure makes me giggle.

But lately my refrain has been:  “Mouse, mouse / in the house / we got a mouse/ in the house.”  I first noticed that something was amiss when I was alone early one morning and heard some rustling.  I get creeped out pretty easily but managed to convince myself that it was a normal house noise, or something outside.

When Mom asked me about a suspicious substance in a drawer, I had to confirm that it had indeed been left by a mouse.  I’ve housed various rodents in the past, both intentionally (hamsters) and uninvited (mice) so I am quite familiar with the evidence they leave behind.

I also have some experience with what does not work.  I love the idea of a humane trap, but this catch and release method almost guarantees that you are recycling the same mouse.  I think once you start this process then word spreads within the rodent community that one can get a free meal plus a ride home.

Of course the risk to the mouse is that when the statute of limitations runs out, the household may get fed up with the Groundhog Day-like game, and set out snap traps.  But these are not infallible.  Mom asserted that she doesn’t mind getting outsmarted by the dog but she draws the line with a mouse.

I tried to make her feel better by pointing out that if one is to learn anything from cartoons it’s that cats are smarter than dogs, mice are smarter than cats, and bunnies are the smartest of all.  By this reasoning, she should really feel worse for getting outsmarted by dogs.  That didn’t help the situation.

More mousie calling cards were found in the pantry, including a granola bar that had been nibbled on, in addition to a completely empty wrapper.  Mom determined that using some of the partially chewed bar would be good bait, since the mouse had shown an obvious preference.  

But later not only was the trap intact but a new granola bar had been removed from the shelf and dragged into the middle of the kitchen floor.  The mouse wasn’t just satisfied with the treat, but had to make a statement for all to see.  I said it was like the mouse was giving her the finger.  (Or maybe recording it for friends on TikTok.)

We knew we couldn’t rely on Yogi, considering he can’t manage to shoo the rabbits away from the yard, especially since he usually doesn’t notice them in the first place.  Also, we had to make sure to keep the cabinet doors closed so as to keep Yogi away from the peanut butter laden traps, knowing his proclivity for this nut-laden goo.

I suggested that we should rent a cat.  I asked people who own kitties if their felines were interested in doing any independent consulting.  It seems that cats who catch mice are rare.  Apparently this skill is obsolete and untaught to the younger generation, sort of like cursive writing to human kids.

Then, just as suddenly, the mouse seemed to vanish.  It could be like trick-or-treaters who get whatever they can at one house before quickly moving on to the next one with assembly line efficiency.  Maybe, unlike most gamblers, it hit the big jackpot and got out while retaining the bounty.  

Or perhaps it overdosed on all those treats and went up to live in that Great Pantry in the Sky.