August 31, 2005. Well, our house is looking a bit better.

One problem of having it essentially wide open for a while (see July's entry) was that several mice decided to call our kitchen home. They kept getting bolder and bolder, so finally we had to do the Mouse Relocation Program. Dave set two traps, and the next day they were closed, and one was clearly holding a mouse. I promised Dave I would deal with it, since he's single-handedly doing the entire front porch renovation. As I was walking several blocks away with the mouse trap in a bag (it was sort of like a Hav-A-Heart trap, but you couldn't see inside) I realized that I was about 70 levels outside my comfort zone. How sad! So freaked out by a little mouse! So I got to my Relocation Destination, set the trap down, and opened the door. Nothing happened. I tapped on the trap. Nothing happened. I danced around a bit. Nothing happened. Finally I picked up the trap and, making sure to hold the door open, I shook it. A little mouse tail peeped out. I yelped and dropped the trap. Tried again, same scenario. Finally I told myself that, really, as a 34-year-old woman I should just get over myself and I picked up the trap and gave it a good shake. The saddest little sweaty mouse popped out. I was sure he was dead, but after a moment of shock, he recovered and scampered away.

Second mouse, same deal, though I was much quicker to give the trap a good jolt to get him out of there, and he was much quicker at scampering. Dave dealt with the third mouse, and he says he just opened the door and the little thing walked right out. Feh. At any rate, it seems like three was all we had, since we haven't caught any more in a few days, and our kitchen counter has been blissfully free of mouse doots (blech).