Saturday night the cry went out.
“There’s a mouse in my shoes!” yelled Cat.
Lisa; the mighty mouse hunter leapt to her feet. Gavin looked confused.
Finally I was in my element. I can catch mice. No I am not a cat, I am a fat old lady who waddles about and spends most of my life stopping the couch from running away by sitting on it as hard as I can and occasionally saying “Whoa there big boy, you’re not going anywhere; its a big job but I have my faithful dog to help. Unless someone else has food, then I’m on my own.
Enough about couch sitting. Yes I may have dedicated my life to my career but before I guarded couches I was good at something else. Yes I am good at 2 things, I am probably a genius. I can catch stuff, little creepy stuff that makes others scream; mainly my mother. I can catch lizards, frogs, bugs and even occasionally non venomous spiders. I catch them and return them to the wild. And I have on a couple of previous occasions caught a wild mouse.
Gavin caught a mouse in our old house but that consisted of weeks of assiduously learning his preferred pathways and progressively building up a collection of traps; saucepans, bowls and cups, then carefully laying the traps out along the path & waiting for him to fall in. The mouse had to travel every time we turned on the oven because that is where he lived, he would return afterwards.
Have I mentioned we actually own cats.
Anyway the mouse finally fell in a bowl, Gavin raced to the bowl, snatched it up and took him outside the front door. Shutting the door he whooped in triumph and started walking back to bask in my adulation.
Cat opened the front door and asked ‘What’s happening outside?’
The mouse raced back inside straight over her foot.
Gavin seemed a little less keen on mouse hunting after that so we cohabited. Yes occasionally the mouse scared the living daylights out of the cats but after we started feeding them on the table where they were safe, this happened less often.
In his defense at the time we had Chase (RIP) Echo’s brother, not Orion the Burmese tiger.
Anyway I have caught mice in my bare hands, well I’ve caught 4; not including pet mice of course.
Fortunately Cat has the tidiest room in the house so when Pixie chased the mouse into the shoes in Cat’s wardrobe I knew it was only a matter of time and moving furniture. I carefully moved furniture to block exits and chased him down. You have to be careful not to be too relentless or the mouse could die of shock.
Because I am getting older I brought a cake tin to trap him, but I didn’t need it. I’ve still got the old grab. Anyway the cake tin was handy to keep him in.
Alex; bless her daft little heart, demanded we call the council to let them know. We explained it was 10:00 pm on a Saturday night and they wouldn’t be there. She was appalled but shut up, so all good. Gavin took the mouse down to the bush at the end of our street. He is the man after all and walking around at night is a bit scary.
When he moved the cake tin so the mouse could escape it climbed his arm instead, but he finally convinced it to stay in the bush.
The only question we have is:
Was this a house mouse or a native ‘Spinifex Hopping Mouse’?
There is a lot of good information on the Bush Heritage Australia site. By the way this is my favourite charity and one of only two I have a regular payment system with, 3 if you count Lotto (says Gavin). It’s great it sends out a lot of good news; look at what you’ve done stories, instead of relentless misery.
So, I would love to hear your opinion.