Thanks to a Jiffy muffin mix box, dropped by my son in the basement, I was awakened to the notion of mice in our house. I found the box on the floor, chewed open. Once I got rid of the Jiffy mix, I started to feel safe --their food supply was gone. They will look at each other, shrug their little shoulders, line up and march to a new house, I was certain. There. That was easy.
Moments later, a nagging feeling came over me. I'd better investigate to be sure the mice had no other food sources. As I began to look around our basement, it was as if an optometrist swung a new lens in front of my eyes. The lens that makes everything “pop” clearly.
Unfortunately, with that clarity came the reality of a sensational rodent invasion.
There were little black rice-shaped droppings…ABSOLUTELY everywhere. As I moved things I heard the “ching, ting, king” --tappy noises of a hundred-billion hardened mouse turds falling onto lower surfaces. And...while I crept around, discovering little nests made out of shredded blankets and trails of bird seed(!) they'd carried in from our backyard, I heard something else too. It sounded like a train clacking down the tracks. It was kind of a cadence----rhythmic. It was the…. involuntary….continuous….rapidly-firing word…. F**K… coming out of my own mouth!!! I couldn’t help it. F**k, f**k, f**k, f**k --, f**k, f**k, f**k, f**k. My lips were pursed and curled up and together..f**k,f**k,f**k, my nose scrunched up—my two front teeth exposed f**k, f**k, f**k. My tensed mouth was contorting in the fixed position of "f**k" ---looking, I suspect, very much like a mouse face, minus the whiskers! My jaw hurt from saying f**k. Very soon, I was going to have to make up a new, just as effective swear word, to counter-act the assault on my facial structure.
I was home alone with 3 gazillion mice.
2. Call for help
(and my husband thinks I can’t be logical)
I was leaning towards dying….but I called for help instead—which wasn’t easy—with my mouth stuck in the “F” position—
“Fefo. Fay fi feak foo Fiv?” A moment to unwrench my mouth…
”Hello, may I speak to Midge?” (my exterminator buddy)
Midge put 32 bait stations in my home. This will kill them. Killing was o.k with me.
Because the mice had been in my house, I couldn’t sleep. The idea that I could be starring in a REAL LIFE version of some Indiana Jones movie occurred to me all night long. My senses heightened, I listened. My ears grew and pointed.
By the next morning, I started to lose my mind.
Everything that was on the carpet, every little speck of dirt, every thread, every molecule on the flooring, every crumb on the counter, every EVERYTHING in the house looked like mouse poop!! I am giddy-- hysterical. My left eye, winking.
My goal was to get everything sorted and cleaned. I bought 36 giant totes with lids, surgical gloves, plastic hair bonnets and giant garbage bags.
The Plan (based on the relative position to mouse turds):
1. Mouse Turd on it--garbage
2. Mouse Turd near it—cleaned and donated
3. Mouse Turd free---Tote-worthy
The process took two weeks solid.
I was hoping for a mass mouse-icide of the Jonestown variety. But I never saw a mouse, dead or alive. It’s possible they could have built up an immunity to the bait blocks—grouping nearby, plotting their next attack. By that time I will be ready for them….
I’ll just let them have the house.