After last week’s mousecapades, we figured that the entry hole was blocked from our side and we were free of mice, although there were still some odd scramblings inside walls at times. For good measure, we picked up a couple of traps, and set out two of the glue type and one of the old-fashioned snap type baited with almond butter.
Yesterday, Damir and I both worked from home, and in the afternoon (as is his habit when working at home), he went for a little nap. A while later, the bedroom door slides open and he emerges holding the mousetrap, without a mouse but also licked clean of almond butter. He had watched while the mouse visited the trap several times, licking away and even standing on the trap — I have a visual of the mouse spread-eagled over the spring mechanism like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat — but not setting the trap off. Personally, I was amazed that he lay in bed watching not one, but several visits of the mouse to the trap before he arose. Then, when he moved, the mouse scooted away (at lightspeed) down the hallway towards the bathroom and laundry.
We started investigating where it went, and I went into the closet and picked up a duffel bag off the floor, and a brown blur zipped out of the closet at my feet and sped further down the hall. I actually shrieked. Now, I’m not a really girly screamer type, but I’ll make an exception when something surprises me like that. We checked the bathroom — no mouse — and concluded that he was in the laundry closet hiding under the washer. We baited several traps and put them outside the door: a couple of snap traps with carrot (Damir had by now determined that we had to use something that the little guy had to gnaw in order to trip the spring), and a couple of glue traps with bits of carrot and goat cheese added to the centre, looking like little mouse sushi trays. We also put a snap trap with carrot over near the windowsill where Damir had originally seen it, and where we knew the point of entry had to be.
We closed the bedroom door, and because it was Valentine’s Day, were making preparations for a nice dinner at home when we heard a trap snap in the bedroom. An exchange of glances. A raised eyebrow. I hand him a plastic bag, and he heads to the bedroom. He checks the traps by the laundry — no mouse — but finds our little friend dead in the one by the window. At this point, because he’s a guy, he picks it up and starts waving it around, as if he had caught the damned thing with his bare hands. No, I don’t really want to see it, thanks. No, I don’t want to take a picture of it. Finally, he gets the point, it goes into the bag and the bag goes down the garbage chute. I postpone dinner while I get the dead mouse visual out of my head.
Later, I re-raise the issue of cats; specifically, the two kittens that my neighbour’s sister is giving away. Damir, who has been resisting this idea although he really likes cats, says “I saw Tom and Jerry, I know that the cat never catches the mouse!”
That’s when it finally strikes me why he named the first mouse Jerry.