Mice rank up in the top 3 of things I really really hate the most. I've written about mice before in my blog, memories of why I'm so traumatized by them, some of the ridiculous mouse catching episodes that have happened in our household, and nightmares I've had of them.
This little episode that I'm about to share made me laugh. I've never had a mouse encounter that brought on the giggles before, but I guess there's a first time for everything.
Last night about 10:30 or so Mike and I were in the living room and we heard Little Kitty (yes that's his name, don't judge) scurrying around the dining room. I looked over in time to see him chasing a VERY fast and jumpy little mouse.
I immediately get a tense sick knot in my stomach and Mike goes into hunter mode. He puts Oscar out on the deck so that he doesn't cause more problems and goes out to get my little clamper tool. This is the kind of tool they use to pick up trash in the park. I use it to get eggs out of the nests.
Meanwhile Little Kitty is having a great time watching the mouse run and jump before he catches it and lets it go. I am standing on a chair under instructions from Mike to "watch the mouse". (Not my favorite job.)
Mike comes back in and starts building a barricade around the mouse with boxes. I'm thinking the whole time that I've seen that mouse jump and those boxes aren't nearly high enough, but I wisely keep my silence as Mike is kind of throwing chairs and stuff out of his way. I can tell he is in no mood for my helpful observations.
Suddenly the mouse darts down the wall and past the "not quite complete" wall of boxes and tries to hide in the other corner. Mike very politely :) asks me to get him a large towel. I grab one and toss it to him which he immediately throws over the mouse and proceeds to squeeze down on it. I can't watch but look the other way while visions of mouse innards soiling my towel which I've determined will go straight into the trash.
That wily mouse manages to escape and runs back into the original corner where he is now corralled by not very tall boxes.
This is the point where, I believe, Mike loses his mind.
"Get me some spray."
I'm not sure I heard him right, but hand him the water bottle that we use to punish Oscar for barking.
"Not water, something that will kill the mouse."
What? I really don't think that will work and try to voice my concerns about that method of annhialation, but am immediately reminded that Mike is not in a mood to hear it.
He goes into the laundry room and comes out with a can of Raid. I can't help myself. I say, "that's not for mice, that's for insects. And I don't want my whole house to smell like Raid. (because I know Mike, and I know he would have emptied the entire can onto the mouse.) He looks at the can briefly and tells me to go get a can of starch. WHAT? I'm thinking to myself I have corn starch, but that doesn't come in a can. I don't use spray starch anymore, is that what he wants? And WHY?????? Is he going to starch the mouse? I say that I really don't think that will work, and he says "it works on bees and wasps. I retort "bees and wasps have WINGS that the starch stiffens making them immobile. MICE DON'T HAVE WINGS!!"
I'm starting to get the giggles. Mike looks so exasperated at me and says "I'M JUST TRYING TO DO SOMETHING!" (I don't think he appreciated the eyebrow raising or half smile I was giving him.)
I stayed in the kitchen keeping my eye on the mouse while Mike went into the bedroom.
He came back with ............. wait for it..............................hairspray.
I can't help it and snort out a little guffaw. Mike whips his head around to give me a glare. I immediately sober right up.
Then he hairsprays the mouse, uses my little gripper tool to pick it up and calmly carries it out the back door.
Hairspray.
Who knew.
