There are two things that I really cannot tolerate in life, as in "I am scared sh$tless and I am going to run and scream like a five year old girl" intolerance: snakes and mice.  Now, where we reside, snakes very rarely get into your home, therefore not much to worry about there.  But mice, yeah, frequent visitors in the winter - we live in a somewhat rural area and when they cut the corn fields, BAM, Mickey and all of his freaking pals try to sneak into our house for food & shelter.  And by sneaking I mean practically opening up the front door and shouting (in their best Ricky Ricardo voice) "Hey Lucy, I'm HOOOOMMME!"  

We had a particularly bad year, about four years ago, where the little bastards thought they were going to move their entire family (and we all know how quickly they procreate) into our home, via the pantry & fire place.  D was out of town, work related, and the girls and I were holding down the proverbial fort and the little shit droppers were literally storming the home front.  It was a Friday, as I clearly remember because D was coming home the next day.  I opened the pantry and to my surprise (and apparently the Fieval raiding my pantry) one of the nasty buggers jumped out at me and as I belted out a blood curdling scream, ran behind the fridge.  Panting like I had just run a marathon (or around the block, same difference), the girls and I ran to the car and abandoned the house...for school.  I promised myself if those little buggers were going to invade my home they had another thing coming...sticky traps (cue ominous background music) and many of them.  

Now we had tried a variety of trapping devices in the past, my favorite being the little electric box - the crafty critters were lured into the box by the wafting fragrance of peanut buttery goodness and when they stepped closer they stepped onto a metal plate which ZZZZZAAAAAPPPPed the life out of them.  It was awesome - no mess, no screaming, no blood (I'm sure there was but D took care of that nonsense).  But a year later, after our influx of rampaging rodents shorted out our trap, we sadly learned that Lowe's was no long carrying them.  Argh, this meant we had to go one of three routes:  Poison (nope, they die in the walls & stink to high heaven), Traditional with bait (nope, too easy for them to get the peanut butter and they were bloody by nature) or sticky traps.  

So you see, I really had no choice but to line my baseboards with the infamous torture devices. Mind you, I considered them torturous and I'd shunned them because I'd heard that the trapped/stuck mouse will emit an ear piercing scream.  Hmm, no thank you - that's all I need is to have that nonsense replaying in my head!  But I had reached my breaking point folks and having mouse after mouse mock me, laughing in my scared to death face caused me to jump on the "Last Resort" train and not turn back. 

Note:  Upon arriving home after a day at school, totally forgetting the morning mouse incident, I walked right into our kitchen only to have another freaking mouse run out from under the pantry door (apparently my pantry was the "happening place" for these bastards and their wicked friends), right past me and behind the fridge (again).  I screamed and told the girls to get back in the car, we were going to Lowe's - all the while wondering if it would just be easier to pack a bag and go to the damn Hampton Inn for the night!

Traps were purchased, dinner brought home in a paper bag that may or may not have had golden arches and we were ready to chill out for the night.  Little did we know that we were going to have an influx (no exaggeration) of mice scampering their shitty little arses along the living room walls.  All it took was one scurrying past, bypassing my ONE trap, and I quickly devised a plan:  big bottle of wine, myself and fed children in pj's on the couch and sticky trapS strategically planted along the based boards of the living room...and BAM, Friday night's entertainment, a homespun extermination experiment, was up and running.

 

Now my dear hearts, this was four years ago and I was under the influence, but I do know that we snagged at least three of those sneaky little buggers and threw them out into the cold night air (yes, trap and all), where D would be home the next day to take them to their final resting place.  C & I screamed every time one raced out and K giggled with glee as she knew IT would be meeting an untimely demise.  K was also the brave soldier to scoop the trap (with mouse) onto a dustpan and toss them out the door.  I should be ashamed to admit that, because she was only eight years old at the time, but hell, someone had to do it, right?  And who am I to strip my child of such obvious joy?  Heck, she even talked to the little arseholes as she took them outside...hmm, what does that say about my kid?  Pfft, just another one of my parenting wonders, right?

We woke the next morning and decided that the majority of the day would be spent upstairs...as the little buggers and buggerettes had yet to journey to the second floor.  But a unanimous decision was made: if we saw any more mice we'd leave a note for D informing him that he could find us at the Hampton Inn.  We had displayed immense bravery the night before but we were officially tapped out. 

Lucky for D & us, all went well and he eventually took care of the mice situation...poison that dehydrates the mice, thrown under the house and kept in the garage for those that snuck in for a quick munch.  Fast forward four years and we now own Frappe', a 1 1/2 year old cat that we adopted from the SPCA after I saw a mouse, dead on a sticky trap, in our front closet.  She has kept us mouse free and now insect free - certainly earning her keep, more than I can say for the teens, but that's another story for another day.

BTW:  The mice don't scream, but rather emit a high pitched squeak...that is, when they aren't trying to gnaw their own leg off to "release" themselves from the trap.  Stubborn little bastards.