A "Tail" of Two Mice AND GusGus

By now, you now of my mouse debacle.

However, there was one crucial member I left out of the mouse brigade, GusGus.

GusGus is shorter than the other two mice, he is also a bit chubs. Ok, he is very chubs. GusGus LOVES to eat. I don't blame him. He is a mouse. What else is there to do in the life of a mouse? You can only run through so many mazes before it becomes a bit redundant. What else are you going to do? EAT.

One evening after returning home from work, I turned on the kitchen light to reveal GusGus chomping away at a large crumb. The moment he became aware of my presence, he dropped his crumb and worked his way to the mouse hole.

Normally, the mice bolt towards an exit. It happens so quickly that at times, I can barely register what is happening before the mouse is out of sight.

With GusGus, I had PLENTY OF TIME to register. GusGus' little belly dragged against the floor. He shuffled along, putting forth an enormous amount of effort, desperate to make his escape.

The Original GusGus from Cinderella. Source. 

Imagine you are watching a race.  The starting gun sounds as a herd of racers take off, dashing down the track. You look back to see one kid left behind. He is giving his best, but has managed to only traverse mere feet away from the starting line. He isn't running as much as he is shuffling. All you can do is hope he somehow finishes. While all of this passes through your mind, the others races complete the run.

Now, EVERYONE is watching the one kid. Talk about an anxiety attack. At first, everyone cheers him on, but the encouragement proves fruitless as he speed remains that of a turtle. The cheering stops. Now it's plain old AWKWARD. You look away, stare at the sky, anything that will help distract from this painful scene.

You look back, positive that he is almost finished the race. NOPE! So again, you look away, attempt to make small talk with the people around you. Finally, the kid closes in on the finish line. Again the cries of cheers fill the stands as people celebrate this kid's determination, but mostly are cheering that the awkwardness is over.

GusGus is that kid. GusGus worked so hard towards escaping that even Lila found little appeal in hunting him and instead, she stopped, stood next to me, and together we watched him escape.

That''s right, even Lila thinks chasing GusGus is a joke. It wouldn't be a chase so much as a walk over and stand next to him while he wobbles slowly on the floor.


My friend, Tana also lives in the apartments. She doesn't have a single mouse. Why? Because she has TWO cats.

I need to borrow these cats, but I am not sure for how long. I'm guessing the mice would quickly learn of our feline residents, but what would happen when the cats leave?

I'm sure the mice would eventually venture out again, risking their tiny critter lives. I assume once the smell of cat wore off they would return. SO, what if I took some cat hair and placed strategically in corners frequented by my mice? I think that is a brilliant idea.

Although, I have to obtain cat hair. I am not sure how to go about this process. Cats are not usually the biggest snugglers. It is also VERY DIFFICULT to reason with a cat. At least when it comes to Lila, I can say, "Lila" in a very serious tone with my attempt at a deep voice, and she immediately rolls over.

If I say a cat's name in a serious tone, the cat completely ignores me. Cats are so sassy. I can see it playing out like this:

Once I unsuccessfully attempt to reason with the cat into giving me it's cat hair, I will rely on catching the cat. I can already imagine my endless hours of me chasing a slinky, maneuverable cat around the house. Cats possess the ability to leap from refrigerators, dart into tiny spaces, and jump onto counters, knocking over anything and EVERYTHING in their path.

That is rude, cats. You knock over things, break things, and don't even bat an eye lash. A cat will knock over a vase, watch it shatter into a million pieces, then look at you with it's cat-ferocity as if saying, "What." Not, "What?' No, that would imply the cat was confused by their actions. No, cats know exactly what they did and they don't care. They are the honey badgers of the domesticated animal world.


Meanwhile, I chase the cat and given my determination to catch the cat, as by that point I'd challenge myself to catch the cat, I plow through any object in my way. As a former soccer goalie, diving onto the sofa or even the floor in a vain attempt to grab the cat surely results in a few broken household items along with some injured body part.

But I put injury aside. When it comes to a challenge, as I've said many times before, this is my life -

 

Although, usually I am the one issuing the challenge to myself.

By this point, exhaustion is sure to set in. I fall to the ground. The cat glares at me. I crawl towards the cat, saying, "it's ok" over and over again. The cat lets me come near enough and I snatch her by the leg. I've made her a girl cat. 

She smacks me in the face, claws extended. Her sharp swipe tears through my skin. Blood drips down my face. I release her leg and wince as I wipe my forehead, covering my hand in drops of blood.

The cat retreats to a tiny nook, possibly under a bed, in the dead center where my arms are unable to reach. But of course, I still try, laying down on my belly, shuffling my body, underneath the frame of my bed. At this  point, I realize I am stuck. There is nothing left for me to do, but try and grab the cat.

As I extend my fingers towards the hostile scratcher, she hisses, a warning that I need to back off. Too bad I am stuck and unable to back off. I stop trying to grab her and instead we stare at each other. Her, hissing, me, frustrated. My continuous wiggling proves useful as I back out from underneath the bed. Of course, I manage to hit my head as I break free. Poor brain. It deals with so much.

"Fine! You win!" I call out to the cat as I leave the room. I approach the spot where I managed to grab her leg, and lo and behold, there is a tuft of cat fur. CHALLENGE COMPLETED!

I grab it and shout out in victory, completely oblivious of my open wound's determination to bleed. I plop down on the sofa, victorious.

And with my luck AFTER all of this subsides, Joey returns home from wherever he is. Because of course, he isn't there when I am having INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES. 

He will look at the dried blood on my face and ask what happened. All I will say is "THE CAT."

Knowing Joey, his response will be along the lines of, "soooo, we still have mice."

"Go ask GusGus" I will respond. "Oh, and don't go in the bedroom, there is a very angry cat under the bed. I'm not sure how to make her leave."

Yes, I can very easily see this playing out - how? Because something VERY similar has happened before. I was left wounded by an angry cat who didn't want to play. She managed to cut open my forehead with her claws. Lovely cat.

Therefore, I guess we are stuck with the mice until the exterminator shows. 

A "Tail" of Two Mice

At the end of November, Joey and I moved to a new apartment and by new, I mean built in the 1950s.

Around the end of December, I noticed little brown droppings. Horrified by my new discovery, I vacuumed every nook and cranny of the apartment.

EVERY NOOK AND CRANNY - I moved bookshelves, our 5 person sofa which weighs 300 pounds, moved our shoe rack, curtains and morphed into a vacuuming fiend. I would find every piece of tiny mouse poop. 

Knowing that mice are nocturnal, I went on with life as usual. Until I noticed a new trend emerging from Lila's usual habits. She would go to a dark closet, sit down, and stare at the ground. If a dark closet was unavailable, I found her sitting behind the sofa and staring at the ground.

I started to worry. Was Lila depressed? Bored? I enrolled her in Doggy Daycare, hoping her playtime there would cause her bizarre habits to subside. Yet, she still spent evenings in the closet. I shared my concern with Joey, who assured me Lila didn't show the usual signs of depression. As we talked, Lila sat, alone, in the closet, focused on the carpet. I called her name. She didn't even flinch. Joey called her name. No response.

Finally, I got up and walked over to the closet. I turned on the light to reveal that Lila wasn't depressed; no, Lila was staring down a hole in the corner our of closet floor. A hole that most likely leads to a tiny underground Ratatouille-sized family of mice.

My neighbors have informed me that they too battle the mice. One neighbor in particular is Eileen. If you've ever seen Ratatouille, the old woman Mabel in the movie is my neighbor, Eileen. Eileen is 82 years old and always has her hair in curlers. In addition, Eileen's favorite outfit consists of the following: a pink and white nightgown complimented by heavy industrial boots. According to Eileen, she frequently falls asleep in her recliner with the tv on in the background, then wakes up at bizarre hours, like 2am. I love Eileen.

I am not sure if Eileen owns any weaponry, but it wouldn't be a big surprise if this scene played out in our complex. Although, rather than target the ceiling, Eileen would target the floor.

Last weekend, Eileen had a gentleman caller. However, being elderly and easily confused, the gentleman caller first came to my apartment in search of Eileen. He knocked on my door and stood in bewilderment as I greeted him.

"Did you just move in?" he asked.
"I moved here in November." I replied.
"What happened to the old lady that lived her?" he asked loudly, which indicated he may be hard of hearing.
"I don't know."
"Ok," he responded sadly. He turned away and made his way up the stairs.

I closed the door and it dawned on me.

"Wait!" I swung the door open, hoping to catch the man. Luckily, his age slowed him down and he was only 20 feet away from my door. "You're in the wrong apartment building! She lives in the next building. She's still there!" I continued, excited to be able to help.
"Really?" he said, eyes lighting up.
"Yes."
"Thank you!"

ADORABLE.


ANYWAY, after I discovered the mouse tunnel in our closet, I stuffed the hole with an old t-shirt. Then I put a box on top of the t-shirt. This is obviously not a long term solution, but so far, it's working. I then carried Lila out of the closet. That's right CARRIED. I had to physically pick her up and carry her out of the closet. She is so infatuated with our critters that any time she hears a sound coming from the kitchen or closet, she bolts from the sofa, her usual spot, runs to where she thinks the sound came from and STARES, waiting. 

The pathetic part of this is that usually she focuses so hard on the spot where she believes the mice will appear that she completely misses them running behind her.

The most mice we've seen at any one time is three. The first time we saw a mouse, I decided he needed a name. Normally, I choose the name, but this time, I asked Joey for his input.

"What should we name the mouse?" I asked Joey
"Hector," Joey replied without batting an eyelash.

I am so PROUD! Normally, whenever I try to give a name to a random animal, Joey acts perplexed. It used to be that when I told him that I named a random critter, he would respond, "Why would you name it?"

It has taken nine years of being together for Joey to realize when it comes to me, it's usually easier to go with the flow. Rather than question my desire to name every animal that crosses our path, he MIGHT AS WELL  give his input on a name.

So Hector it became. Whenever we saw a mouse in the house, (nice rhyme) we would announce Hector's visit. We saw Hector by himself three times. I am very well aware that it could have been a different mouse each time, but I choose to believe it was Hector. LET ME BELIEVE!

This was fine and dandy until last week. Last Wednesday night, I walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. The room illuminated to reveal Hector frozen still, STARING AT ME. 


His stiffened stature caused me to freeze as well. This means at 9:00 pm on a Wednesday night, I was caught in a STARING CONTEST WITH A MOUSE. I didn't dare call out for Joey and startle Hector. I wanted to catch and free Hector and his family in a wild meadow filled with flowers, sunshine, and happiness.

"How can I catch him?" I thought to myself. "I know, I LIGHTLY BOP HIM WITH A BROOM. I won't hit him hard enough to do damage, just enough to stun him."

FLAWLESS PLAN - aka dumb plan.

All I needed was to reach for the broom, let me move my arm ever so slightly to the left to grab the broom and I'll -

The moment I tensed my arm, Hector took off into a newly carved hole under our cabinets.

"Oh well," I said out loud.

I took a step further into the kitchen and was cut off by another mouse who ZOOMED past me into the hole.

Ok, I am not one of those girls who screams when she gets scared. I don't scream and pretend to be scared merely to gain attention. Like when you are at the ocean, standing in the sand and a crashing wave makes its way towards you, DON'T SCREAM. That is stupid."OMG THE WAVES ARE COMING! AHHH" Those girls drive me crazy. Either a) let the water touch your toes, you will survive or b) MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. 

When I see girls/women doing that, I stare at them with frustration. They are giving women a bad name. We are NOT a weak gender that requires rescuing. We can manage on our own. Sure, we LIKE when someone comes to help us, who doesn't? Yet, women need to stop perpetuating the stereotype that we can't handle life without a strong, rugged man saving the day. I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T, do you know what that means? U

Ok sorry, side tracked. I have MANY more thoughts about that and also my issue with society perpetuating what men and women should look like and act like. If you're a kind and respectful person who is trying to be a good human being, you're awesome in my book.

ANYWAY, even though I am not one to shriek, the second mouse startled me so much that I let out a quick shriek. I immediately covered my mouth, surprised that sound managed to escape. Joey called out from the bedroom. I explained that alongside Hector, we now had Gladys. That's right, I named her Gladys.

So that is my life's current situation. I am trying to handle living with mice - as in, I want to catch these mice and free them, but I think we may need to call an exterminator.