Claire the Cringing Conqueror

I usually pride myself on being so observant. One has to be, to get through our yard unscathed by animal offerings. ( Offerings made by animals, not of animals.) Imagine my horror and disbelief when I discovered that I had come home, straightened up the apartment ( which included washing some leftover/straggler dishes - not much silverware these days, I'm doing better on that count), made dinner, eaten dinner, cleaned up after dinner, and was sweeping the floor...ALL BEFORE NOTICING...the dead mouse on my kitchen floor. I almost dropped my broom as I sprang into the living room with a shriek of dismay ( followed by many a groan and murmur until Brad's Pest Removal Service came to the rescue).

We had problems with mice over the winter and Brad duly set out a small raft of mousetraps. We caught a few and it seemed our problems were over...but we have kept them around just in case...still loaded for bear. I mean, mice. Most of the traps have accumulated in one sorry part of the kitchen floor, and the peanut butter therein must have turned decidedly rancid by now. I was thinking of these traps recently, wondering what good they could possibly do- all three in a row, with highly undesirable foodstuffs...I considered removing them for good, because I was pretty sure our problems were over...and that they wouldn't really be effective with ancient peanut butter even if there was a problem. But there is the rest of the house to keep up with, including silverware to wash, not to mention working at the Shelter...and with one thing and another, I never got around to it. In other words, the thorns, which equal the duties and cares of life, crept in and choked my good intentions to deal with the mousetraps.

Plus, dealing with nasty old mousetraps is something that the longer you put it off, the more you really don't want to do it. It becomes this quiet conflict between you and the peanut buttery mousetraps. You purpose to ignore them, resolutely averting your gaze from that part of the kitchen...nurturing a vague hope that somehow, someday, they will just go away on their own. In short, it becomes a chore that you mean to ask your husband to do, but you keep forgetting.
( Brad wants me to insert some comment here to the effect that I have never dealt with mousetraps and probably never will and that I am unduly taking credit for mousetrap maintenance. No, I didn't mean to do that. I hope I never SHALL HAVE TO. Even springing an empty one would probably cause me to jump and scream...which is why I have never done so.)

But I guess the older and moldier the bait, the more desirable! It lured this one out of hiding, anyway. It was probably a responsible, female mouse who had had enough of my bad housekeeping and determined to clean up the old peanut buttery traps herself...even if it cost her life...which it did. HA! I WON THE BATTLE! I waited her out! Procrastination has its virtues.