Snubbed By A Mouse.

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Several days ago, I saw something move along the baseboard in the laundry room. A chubby long mouse! I went to the basement and got the trap. The same trap my younger grandsons play with by setting it, then tripping the thing with a pencil. Much to their delight.

I've been catching mice with peanut butter for many years. It is easy to put on the trap and the critters love it. . . . I thought.

I set the baited trap, placed it on a napkin, and laid it under the antique sewing machine, away from our adventurous pooch, for I know he would investigate and wind up with a mousetrap hanging from his mustache.

The first day the napkin had mysteriously shifted, but the trap still in tact.
. . . The second day a deliberate, nicely placed mouse bomb looked at me from the white napkin. It spoke volumes, saying, "Hey dude, I don't dine on smeared peanut butter goo. I'm past that stage. You know exactly what I like . . . cheese."

Well, I felt a bit indignant that the critter pooped on the serving tray of my initial offer. I vowed to not offend the pompous intruder again.

A chunk of parmesan cheese, highly pungent, sent a new signal to the snob mouse.

One the third day, there he was, having enjoyed the cheese so much that he rolled over, with the trap on top of him, wearing the whole thing like a new necklace.

After a ceremonial flush he went to join Bin Laden.

I didn't take a picture to show you, thought my words are graphic enough.

(The mouse turned out to be a vole. A short-taild rodent that follows moles and eats the root veggies in the garden,)


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