My mother has had a problem with mice lately. I think it's a combination of having four lap dogs that like to string dry dog food from one side of the house to the other, my sister and nephew failing to understand the concept of a trash can, and the removal of the soiled carpet that is causing the occasional mouse to sneak in. The latest one appeared a few weeks ago, or should I say the mouse's droppings appeared. My nephew left a piece of pizza crust on his dresser. The next morning, it was gone, not because my mother had thrown it away or one of the dogs had managed to grow five feet and retrieve it, but because the mouse had indulged in an overnight pizza feast. How do I know? Because the mouse left rat poo behind as his parting gift.That same day my mother went and bought several boxes of mouse-friendly traps from Wally World. Theoretically, the traps work this way. You put a piece of cheese or a peanut butter-smeared cracker in this little plastic box. The mouse then goes in to get the cheese or cracker, and the door shuts behind him, effectively trapping him in the box but not killing him. Well, apparently my mother's mouse is smarter than the average mouse because it somehow managed to remove the food without getting trapped in the box. It also managed to avoid my sister's miniature Dachshund, Juliet, a dog that has unfortunately eaten every rabbit or baby chicken that the Easter Bunny has brought my nephew in the last few years but can't be bothered to get off the couch to catch a rat.
When the animal friendly traps didn't work, my mother went old-school and bought your standard mouse trap. She didn't want to use those kind, but she didn't want to share a bed with a mouse either. Once again, the mouse proved smarter than the trap. It got the food without the trap getting it. At wits end, my mother was starting to wonder if the she should just let the mouse be, name it Mickey, and buy it a little mouse sweater for Christmas. What's one more pet at this point, after all?
Well, luckily for her but not so luckily for Mickey, the mouse problem took care of itself, death by chocolate style. My nephew got a chocolate shake last Friday from McDonald's, and as usual he didn't drink it all. He just stuck it next to his X-box in his bedroom, sans the lid, and forgot about it. Sunday morning, my mother couldn't stand the mess in his room anymore and started picking up the dirty dishes and trash. That's when she found poor Mickey, DOA in the McDonald's cup. Apparently, he dove in for a sip and found that he couldn't swim. Then he sat there for two days, decomposing, in a melted chocolate mess. Can you say "major yuck fest"?
In light of Mickey's untimely demise, I think one thing is rather obvious. My nephew has got to start cleaning his room. He's eight, not helpless. Then he needs to teach his 28-year-old mother how to do the same thing.
