Sunday, February 13, 2011

If you give a mouse a cookie, he won't eat it because he's smarter than to take a cookie from a mouse trap.

Aussie slang defined:
  • Woop woop: A town in the boonies.
  • Ute = A pick up truck. That one's just silly.
Sidenotecompletelyunrelatedtothisblogpost: God blessed me with a number of job opportunities this week. And great ones! With great people. What a sweet, sweet guy. Ask and you shall receive, my friends. 

Anyway, on top of my glorious career-shower, Katie and I got to exercise our hunting skills with a field mouse that had made a home in our naptastic purple lounge. And if he wasn't in the lounge, he was making his mousey way across the living room and behind the dish cabinet, perched along the baseboards. Though, he never ventured down the hall. He knew if he did his life span would have been significantly shorter if I found him in one of my shoes, or having a hump affair with Clyde (my moosebear) (#yesI'm22andstillsleepwithaplushanimaltocomfortme) in my bed. 

I first discovered our little furry friend late one evening when I went to dawdle on the computer before bed. I turned on the light that led to the bathroom, but not the kitchen light. And all I saw was something furry, fast and fist-sized. Naturally, I assumed it was one of the giant ass poisonous spiders that we researched. I spent my computer time with my feet off the ground and all the lights on. When I told my uncle about it the next morning, he set out to find it. Moving the couches, tossing cushions about, he discovered the culprit. I was in my room Skyping with my soon-to-be-famous musical BFF Aaron Lagrone when I heard him find the bushy buddy (pardon the irate Australian profanity):

"It's a fuckin' mouse! A mouse! There's a bloody mouse in my lounge! You little shit!"

And so the saga began.

Operation Mouse House was a multi-teamed task, as the mouse was far too agile and sly to be captured by one. No, this mouse was a rodent professional. Hiding in nooks and crannies, darting the span of the living room when backs were turned, and strategically placed poops as to throw off our compass. Operation Mouse House was a "fortnight". It took two weeks to finally capture him. Australians love Shakespearean lingo.

The first week, my uncle bought 5-6 mouse traps and loaded them with a party tray of treats for the bushy brat. But he didn't bite. Then Katie took over. She asked for my help during the initial stages of her ambush, but... eh. It was much more interesting to watch. And well, who wants a rabies-ridden rodent scurrying atop their feet? Pass. This is what the kitchen looked like after Katie discovered Tuesday's location of Jerry Baseboards (given to him
by the ever-creative Katie Miller). She attempted to herd him into the bathroom in order to trap him in a more enclosed space. The mouse corral was flaw-full, but comical.

After she poked him a number of times with a wooden spoon, and blinded him a bit with the pink and purple flashlight - he darted out from underneath the cabinet, way too close to my feet, and back under the lounge. Corral fail.

Jerry: 2.
Humans: 0.

The next day, Katie resorted to her same tactics, sans the corral. And, on top of the wooden spoon my aunt has yet to find out that we were poking a mouse with, she found a branch of a palm tree. Which made to be a great poker, a would-be-great back scratcher, and a nice sweeping tool for when Jerry got out of line. The little anus made a number of trips back and forth from the purple lounge to the dish cabinet, defeating us all once again. We opted for a bigger army. With our Major General being the perma-annoying Puss Puss.

Jerry: 4.
Humans: 0.

I'm giving Jerry an extra point because the cat is already useless, so it starts with a demerit. But the cat proved to be even more useless when we tried to get him to trigger his innate predator instincts. The cat was staring at bugs and trying to run through screen doors. We even pushed his face into the area where Jerry was, but he would rather tend to his bug watching and ass being.

The funny thing about us even letting in Puss Puss was that he did absolutely nothing. Then the second we let him back out so he could go play catch with lint balls, the mouse would bolt to a new hiding ground. This... cat and mouse game... happened 4 times.

Jerry: 8:
Humans: 0.
Puss Puss: -985

It was time for a new attack plan. Uncle P readjusted his gardening gloves and went after the mouse himself. Linda wasn't exactly the best cheerleader as she was doing everything she possibly could to keep out of the mouse's sprinting range. Though, she was arbitrarily waving around a broom. Intimidation factor.

We decided that us catching the mouse with our hands was just a distant dream. So, we thought we'd trap him with Tupperware. Brilliant. Actually, it really did give us a boost of encouragement. When Jerry frantically scurried under the fridge on one of our numerous capture attempts, we lined the fridge with Tupperware as Katie tried her herding technique once more. She was brushing him to one side, so that he would run into the Tupperware. When the bait took the worm, we all got so excited that we screamed and forgot to hold down the plastics. He ran in between Katie's legs and back to the lounge.

Then shit got real.

When Jerry receded to his favorite hiding place (that we were fully aware of), we took the time to turn the living room into Fort Knox. We stripped the couches of their cushions and lined the living room with them, so he couldn't get to the dish cabinet anymore.

Jerry: 9
Humans: 1/2
Puss Puss: -1000

He infiltrated the Fort and made it back to the cabinet. But, our culprit is injured. He left a trail of blood on the way to the cabinet. How? Not from Puss Puss. Worthless cat. Either way, we take this time to get him back to the couch. One. Last. Time.

Fort Knox had been resized and re-enforced. Operation Mouse House is about to be finished. With my uncle still in his gloves, and the Tupperware in hand, we all were prepared to end this furball fiasco once and for all. Katie applied the sweeping mechanism and got Jerry to run out from under the lounge. Jerry tried to escape but alas! Blocked. He scurried back under the lounge and tried to wedge himself between the end table and the wall, but Katie NBA'd his ass and stuffed him. He ran out and toward the sliding glass doors where Uncle P was waiting and BAM! BAM! He trapped Jerry with the Tupperware.

Now, our hope is that the mass amounts of blood are just from his pre-existing wounds, and his lifeless position is because the Tupperware came down on his tail. Otherwise, Uncle P politely tossed Jerry's little mouse body over the fence. And  Operation Mouse House was a long-winded success.

Jerry: 9
Humans: A proud 1 1/2.
Puss Puss: Who cares.