A couple of weeks ago, we got mice. This is at once better than the time we had termites, in that the mice have yet to fly at my head in a massive, psyche-scarring swarm, and worse than the time we had termites, in that the termites never came into the bedroom in the middle of the night while we were sleeping. My cats, Callie and Pixel, managed to catch 3 mice despite their moral dedication to a life of leisure (and respectively, advanced age and advanced chubbiness). After the second mouse we bought mouse traps.
Now, I like animals. I like them so much that I choose not to eat them. I do wear leather, but it is not my fault that animals make such flipping cute shoes. And really, the mice were kind of cute. So I did not want to get the neck-snapping mouse traps (or god forbid the sticky paper mouse traps that require you to crush the poor thing's skull with your thumb) and instead got the live-release mouse traps. The idea behind these traps is that the mouse will go into the trap to get the peanut butter, the little swinging door will close, and the mouse will just chill out and have a snack until it is released into the wild far away from my house (but possibly close to the neighbor with the yappy little dog).
Two nights ago we found the source of the mice and set the traps. Apparently this caused our mice to call all their mouse friends and kick of Mouse Party USA in the space beneath my fireplace. When we checked, the traps were empty. They were also tripped and in some cases totally flipped over. Every last bit of peanut butter was gone. I am sure the mice are somewhere deep in my walls sleeping off the worst peanut butter hangovers known to micedom. So today I went back to the hardware store and got new live-release traps. These traps are hardcore. I mean, they are like the Ft. Levinworth of mousetraps. There is no way those mice are going to escape there traps. At least they had better not escape, because if they do I am totally cutting off the peanut butter supply.