Mousewatch 2011
There is a large mouse inside my stove.
From the sounds of the scraping, I have determined it has very large claws. From the sounds of the ravenous chewing, I have deduced that it also has very large teeth. In fact, at this point, I'm not sure it's a mouse. It may be a rat or squirrel. How the hell it got inside my stove without leaving a dropping on the floor is beyond me.
When we discovered mice over the winter, we went on a rampant search for holes, discovering a significant gap in the floorboards in one room. My handy-dandy Chaucer book covered the holes quite nicely, and we saw no further droppings and heard no further scurrying. Until now, of course. When I'm home alone.
So I'm sitting here, curled into a chair, watching my homemade mouse trap for signs of movement. And by homemade mousetrap, I mean crushed up crackers in a Molson Canadian box. If and when the critter goes for the crackers, I'm going to sneak up and flip the box so it can't get out. Providing, of course, that it doesn't see me on the way or I don't freak out and tip the box over.
Laugh if you want, but this method has worked before. Granted, I was dealing with a granola box and I had cereal to tempt the little guy. He was little, too--not even full grown, munching on cereal as pleased as punch. I affectionately named him Bo, and set him free in the grass behind the local community college.
Seriously, folks, I just heard a thud. This creature is clearly so much bigger than I previously thought. I wish I could attach audio to this post. The scratching is lounder than my keys clicking. Yikes.
I called Chris and my dad, who suggested I either turn on the oven or open it. Turning it on just seems foolish--a dead mouse in the oven is really no better than a live one. Worse, actually. Looking inside of it? I might love all things four-legged and furry, but I'm not going to seek out a potential rat. I can just see myself, opening the oven door and having Stuart Little's coked out cousin staring back at me.
Fortunately, I have ruled out the possibility of multiple offenders. It's just one mini-monster, having a feast on my oven's casserole runoff and pizza drippings.
I threw a roll of masking tape at the stove in hopes of startling the varmint out. No luck. It seems to have meandered into a different area of the stove now. How--and what--is it still eating? Dear God, something actually sounds like it's shifting in the stove. I have a vision of the cookie trays lifting up as Mighty Mouse scales the gas lines.
I may be here until tomorrow morning.
From the sounds of the scraping, I have determined it has very large claws. From the sounds of the ravenous chewing, I have deduced that it also has very large teeth. In fact, at this point, I'm not sure it's a mouse. It may be a rat or squirrel. How the hell it got inside my stove without leaving a dropping on the floor is beyond me.
When we discovered mice over the winter, we went on a rampant search for holes, discovering a significant gap in the floorboards in one room. My handy-dandy Chaucer book covered the holes quite nicely, and we saw no further droppings and heard no further scurrying. Until now, of course. When I'm home alone.
So I'm sitting here, curled into a chair, watching my homemade mouse trap for signs of movement. And by homemade mousetrap, I mean crushed up crackers in a Molson Canadian box. If and when the critter goes for the crackers, I'm going to sneak up and flip the box so it can't get out. Providing, of course, that it doesn't see me on the way or I don't freak out and tip the box over.
Laugh if you want, but this method has worked before. Granted, I was dealing with a granola box and I had cereal to tempt the little guy. He was little, too--not even full grown, munching on cereal as pleased as punch. I affectionately named him Bo, and set him free in the grass behind the local community college.
Seriously, folks, I just heard a thud. This creature is clearly so much bigger than I previously thought. I wish I could attach audio to this post. The scratching is lounder than my keys clicking. Yikes.
I called Chris and my dad, who suggested I either turn on the oven or open it. Turning it on just seems foolish--a dead mouse in the oven is really no better than a live one. Worse, actually. Looking inside of it? I might love all things four-legged and furry, but I'm not going to seek out a potential rat. I can just see myself, opening the oven door and having Stuart Little's coked out cousin staring back at me.
Fortunately, I have ruled out the possibility of multiple offenders. It's just one mini-monster, having a feast on my oven's casserole runoff and pizza drippings.
I threw a roll of masking tape at the stove in hopes of startling the varmint out. No luck. It seems to have meandered into a different area of the stove now. How--and what--is it still eating? Dear God, something actually sounds like it's shifting in the stove. I have a vision of the cookie trays lifting up as Mighty Mouse scales the gas lines.
I may be here until tomorrow morning.