The Art of Catching a Mouse

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Yeah, not so much in this house.

Christmas morning was full of all sorts of surprises for us. But . . . as a mouse will say when approaching a large block of cheddar . . . better start from the top.

Round abouts two to three weeks ago, Husband and I were enjoying some grown-up time complaining about how there is nothing good on TV. Kids were all nestled all snug in their beds and only occasionally calling out "Cannonball!!!!!" and then doing a triple toe loop on their long-suffering mattresses. In the midst of Husband's rant about how Two and a Half Men was the dumbest show ever created and it was always on TV, we heard quite distinctly the scurrying of feet and nails in the kitchen. Husband and I looked at one another wide-eyed and Husband investigated for a total of ten seconds and then declared that the noise we heard was most assuredly the children, because what else could it be, right?

A week or so later, a friend and her family were expected for dinner and I decided to take on the scouring of the house in preparation. I pulled out the couch cushions and lo and behold found that someone or something had, in the previous week, bored a hole in the center of my couch and chewed on the armrests below the cushion line. I showed Husband my new evidence and he declared that it was most assuredly the children, because what else could it be, right?

I tried arguing with him that we had been in possession of these children for nigh on eight years and not once had they taken it upon themselves to deface the living room furniture. Husband shushed me and made an emphatic declaration that it was indeed the children.

Husband seemed so sure that I relaxed on the couch for the rest of the week, watching Christmas movies and enjoying myself. Christmas morning came and after the opening of a large assortment of presents I partook to create Christmas dinner. Husband ventured into the kitchen to keep me company and whist talking to me, stopped mid-sentence and declared that he saw something moving on the floor out of the corner of his eye. I was quite pleased that he saw it and not I or else I'm sure that he would have decided that I probably saw one of the children scurrying across the kitchen floor.

Husband pulled out the stove and only then did I see with mine own eyes the offensive little thing sit up and demand to know where his stocking was. I (truly) screamed like a little girl and jumped on the table. Husband set out a trap and I am quite positive that mouse was thinking: Yeah, first the lady screams and jumps on the table, and then they give me snacks. Nice try folks!

We left town to visit family and I was sure that upon returning I would find a carcass with a broken back. We found an empty trap and more of my couch chewed up and even mouse droppings below the couch. Ewwww!!! Husband set out more traps, tied the cheese to them with floss and gave mouse peanut butter to no avail. Apparently Husband bought the type of traps where mouse must jump up and down on it and dance the Macarena before it triggers. I tried to make First Son a snack and we had no cheese. Mouse was eating better than my children!

So, the couch was out of the question for sitting, I couldn't vacuum underneath it (that one wasn't so bad), and every time my boys turned on one of their Kung Zhu hamsters, I screamed and jumped on the table. Husband finally set out a "humane" trap and mouse decided that he was quite ready for some new digs. We released him into the wild (a.k.a. our neighbor's yard) and pray that he finds their couch more appetizing than ours.