War

I should be writing about Renaissance art, the Amalfi Coast, and the wonder of Rome. I should be posting pictures of the Roman Forum, my favorite scene of the Sistine Chapel and writing what it's like to spend Christmas in Sorrento. I have recently seen the wonders of the greatest empire to ever rule the world.

I should be writing about how magical the trip was, how I am coming to believe that only when you step out to do something as large as dragging your parents half-way around the world because you think they need to see it, does magic happen. There's a payoff for audacity.

But I'm not writing about that. Yes I was inspired, there are several posts in that two-week trip, and I may get to them. But I am more compelled to write about another topic, as it has become my semi-obsession.

War.

I live in a house built in 1890. It's in the historic district, it's charming, it is in a great location...it is suddenly a mouse haven. Not charming. I left it cold and still for two weeks in the middle of winter, with a pantry full of, well, tasty items if you are a mouse in winter, apparently.

So I had this to tackle ASAP when I got back, as I was too grossed out by the mess my tiny housemates made to let things lie for even a day. Jet-lagged, I walked down to the 24-hour drugstore at 3am to buy whatever they had. It is not fun to buy anti-rodent paraphernalia. They only had conventional traps, albeit hard plastic instead of the old wire and wood design, but they had teeth and looked effective. I grabbed a handful, took them home and loaded them up with almond butter.

No dice. These are city mice, street smart. I thought they might like the Whole Foods almond butter, and they did. I got home to empty traps. They know how to get the goods and run back into the depths of my crawl space. Not cool.

I went to the sticky traps. Evil, and mean, I agree, but I needed to deliver a strong message. Success. I awoke to two very alive but very stuck creatures. I have to say, they were a little adorable, and so I felt bad, even apologized as I put them out of their misery. Had to, poor creatures. There I am in the freezing, early-morning dark, in my jammies, apologizing to the tiny beasts as I hit them hard with a piece of firewood. Twice each. Ugh. It took more emotional energy than physical, but I can do this, and was heartened to be getting somewhere with this crowd.

The next morning there was a half-stuck mice that had crawled with one free leg out into the center of the kitchen in a final quest for freedom. Inspiring really. Braveheart came to mind.

I spent my weekend buying glass containers and bleaching every inch of the pantry, throwing out perfectly good food and paper items because, well, let's be honest, I needed to feel cleaner. Sorry to the environment, but, desperate times...

Feeling cleaner and a little smug, I thought the bleach and eliminating their ability to find any morsel of food would encourage them to go elsewhere. Sure I had given some effort to close up some possible entry points, but to really get back in that scary crawl space...well, no one wanted to do that.

So back into another work week, waking up and coming home to dead mice daily began to wear on me. I got tired of killing mice. While I was apologizing to the first two and feeling bad, by the time I got to numbers six and seven, I was just tossing them into the outdoor trash. I had gotten calloused in a hurry, and starting to take this personally. Hey, freezing to death isn't that bad of a way to go. Don't judge.

I wasn't winning this war. Mice are China. I can kill them wholesale, and they will just keep on coming. I was going to have to deal with the scary crawl space. As I armored up with gloves, goggles and old overclothes, I couldn't help but think about how I have learned that in life, I eventually have to face the scary crawl spaces. I should have gone there first. It was scary, and nasty, and it took a few self pep-talks to clean up and seal the nooks and crannies. Got it done. Felt better, but couldn't help but wonder if everything was really sealed, and, did I seal any in?

It wasn't over. The next day I had to go all the way to hand-to-hand combat with a brazen mouse trying for my dog's food, right before my eyes. Absolutely not. We went one v. one. There was yelling involved. I did not apologize to that mouse.

And so...that was that last dead mouse I have seen. Good, right? No. Right after the dog food incident I saw another attempting the same kibble. There is one remaining. This one is wily. A special-ops mouse I think, as he or she has avoided all fresh traps with all manner of enticements for days. I'm going to have to raise my game, study up on warrior ethos.

If only I had some airpower.