Monty Cat has brought mice into the house for a long time. Not constantly, just every couple months or so. He's a typical cat, so he plays with them before he kills them. I've never really liked that so I always try to rescue them from him and return them outdoors. Torturing for pleasure just does not sit well with me. Plus these are not the mice this American family is used to. Monty brings in Australian Hopping mice. They look different from the common mice I grew up with. Below is a picture.
Aren't they adorable?! They have big, long pointed ears and they hop. They look like a cross between bunnies and mini kangaroos. Just so tiny and precious. They are soooo cute. You take one look at them and can hear the collective, "Awhhhhhhhhhh"
Yeah well, I'm done with that crap. The little bastards have crossed a line with me today and I'm going out and buying extra rusty, sharp and painful mouse traps. I'm not confronted with notions of humane removal. I want pain, fear and a lot of panic from these buggers. There are two now. One upstairs in my room and one downstairs in the kitchen. At least right now there are two. Tomorrow I plan to hang their skins from my flag pole as a warning to other rodents.
THIS HOUSE IS NOT THE HOUSE YOU ARE LOOKING FOR, MOVE ALONG.
Before you leave this site in search of phone numbers to call and turn me in for animal abuse, please listen to my tale of woe. As with most of my life, there is a story behind all this hatred and animosity.
Last week I realized that one of Monty's "toys" had managed to set up residence underneath the cabinet I built in the master bathroom. Yes, I built it. Not IKEA build, but actual cutting wood, assemble with glue and nails and paint. I'm quite proud of that cabinet. But I've been hearing an odd scratching noise during the night and then an odd odor was appearing in the bathroom, even when it was clean. I moved the cabinet around and there he was. Mickey Mouse, him and his pile of filth. He's been chewing on the back board of my cabinet and has created his own condo living space. Ummm, not really so cute and adorable after all.
Still trying to be gentle, I eased the cabinet some more and tried to coax the little guy out. The stupid jerk repaid my kindness by running through Monty's water dish, then over my foot and then climbed into my bathtub. Then as I after I stopped squealing like a 3 year old because "IT TOUCHED ME!" I tip-toed up to the tub to find that the little bastard had shimmied down the drain.
Now, even this was not my breaking point. Nope, I was still holding it together. I even surprised myself. "Must be getting used to Australia," I chucked to myself. I cleaned up underneath the cabinet and figured that Mousey was gone. This was evidenced by the fact that the room stayed clean and there was no scratching sound at night.
Around the same time downstairs in the kitchen some odd events. I left 1/2 a loaf of cheese and bacon bread on the counter over night. My bad, sue me. I stumbled into the kitchen in the morning...as I do every morning...because I hate the morning and it takes me a while to stop hating every one's guts. This is is why it's important for me to have my tea. It saves lives.
Anyway, I blundered in the room and noticed something odd about the bread. Considering the glaze over my eyes this is impressive. Walking closer it looked like a melon ballet had been used to hole outta chunk of bread.
"Maybe Daddy did it?" That was the pearl that Tessi came up with to explain the hole.
"No Baby, at 6am Daddy has no interest in a melonballer or bread; he's hauling himself out the door to catch the train.
"Teddy?"
Then we both laughed. Teddy's idea of working with food in the kitchen is chucking sausage rolls in the microwave since he can't be stuffed to turn the oven on. We giggled for a few minutes and started coming up with real solutions.
Another mouse. It had to be. There was a second damn mouse living in my house. I had left the window open a bit to let some air in and the bugger got in that way. Okay, problem solved. I shut all the windows and scrubbed the hell outta the kitchen counter -hey don't look so surprised. Mice on the counters are gross, hell, even I clean for that.
So goes the next few days. I wake up in the morning and see more evidence of Mousey in my bathroom and go downstairs and find that bananas are half eaten. I am cleaning furiously and starting to lose it.
Today though a line has been crossed and I'm done.
At 3 am I woke up to hear Monty leaping around the room and banging into things. "Good boy. Get the bugger" I hear thumping, squeaking, a whooshing sound and something I can't describe, sounds like tearing? Maybe? I dunno. I'm too tired to care. I'm sure as hell not getting up because I don't want to see the carnage. Then as suddenly as it began, the noises stopped and Monty jumped on the bed, snuggled near my feet and all was quite. I figure I'll let Ted deal with the mouse in the morning. After all, he's worked late a couple days this week and left me to handle his children. He can remove one dead mouse. I call it Balance. He calls it petty revenge but this isn't his story and none of my friends care what he thinks anyway. So there.
Only that's not what happens. I'm not re-woken at 6am to the sound of Ted swearing. I wake at 6:45 on my own and there is no dead mouse. Anywhere. What I do see is hundreds of pulled threads in my very expensive curtains. It seems that Monty has tried to climb up the curtains to get the mouse and failed miserably. Curtains that came with the house and we are liable for. I swish the curtains around, hoping at least to be comforted by the corpse of a well and truly punished rodent.
But the buggering thing is not there. Not anywhere. The wretched cat didn't kill anything. Racing into the bathroom and I'm greeted with a sink and bathtub that have been turned in a rodent public toilets. Monty has the unmitigated gall to start caterwauling for food. FOOD! Really? You had a damn feast delivered to you last night. No kibble for you!
After I scrub, sandblast and vaporize the bathroom I storm downstairs. Go into my kitchen and find this:
The rotten little monster has eaten through the bag and tunneled a hole in the bread. It's the last bit of damn bread I have in the house so now I can't make sandwiches for the girls lunch. We already did a lunch order on Wed at the school canteen and now I have to do another one.
For my American friends who don't grasp why this is so awful, canteen is bloody expensive. I pay about $16 for both girls to have lunch and some treats every week. To do it twice?!!! No, no, no.
For Aussie friends who don't understand why the Americans are confused, Teddy's lunch every day at the school cafeteria was $1.70.
See my problem???!!!!!!!!
So I'm done. No more Mrs. Nice Lady. The mice are buying the farm. They will be soon be ex-mice and cease to be. It's Lock N Load time at Casa Tencza and PETA can stuff it. I didn't want to be mean but they have forced me to do extra cleaning and pay for extra lunches I can't afford. Uncool Dudes, very uncool.
Now I have warned the girls that they may see dead mice in the traps and at first yes, I saw a few lip quivers. Then I mentioned that the mice have been pooping in the bathtubs and on kitchen counters and even Tessi said, 'Kill them Mommy, kill them all," Connor was too horrified to speak, she just nodded her head in agreement. We spent a good twenty minutes plotting the demise of said furry creatures and honestly, it's the best I've felt all week.
Instead of the flag pole maybe I'll just tie their carcasses to the hood of my car. Definitely will send a message, don't you think?
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