We’re almost to late October, and you know what that means: peak mouse trapping season is upon us. Now that I’ve lived in an old farmhouse for over a decade, this is far from my first rodeo. If there’s a mouse-controlling device out there, I’ve bought it and tried it out. And seeing as how some of you might be newer to the mousing scene, I thought it might be helpful to some of you for me to give a quick run down of the various mouse traps out there, and which one gets the official Bryce Seal of Approval.
Just realized that it’s been a few weeks since I told the world all the sordid details about my rodent infestation. Nothing like a Friday to remind you of the little things in life, right? Well, wonder no more, my friends. As you’ll recall, when last we met, the mice were waging full out war: they’d gnawed through the phone line to my DSL router, then the power cord to that router, and then they’d chewed off part of the seal to the washing machine. (Had I mentioned that online? I can’t remember. It was a bad day.) Things were
Okay, peoples. This stuff just got real. The internet company finally(!) sent someone out to figure out what was wrong with our connection. It didn’t take them too long: they went around pulling on wires until they found one that jerked a little too easily. A mouse had chewed right through it. That’s right. My mouse problem and my internet problem are *one and the same*! Words fail to capture the exact feelings of loathing and hatred coursing through my veins when it comes to mice at the moment. Suffice it to say that I’ve ordered an additional 20 traps of
Okay. I’m not saying I have rats in my house (other than our pet Degus, that is), but I am saying that these rodents are no ordinary rodents. A serious evolutionary jump has occurred inside my walls, folks. How do I know this? Because these mice are set on world domination, and they’ve come up with an approach that makes them practically immune to any repercussions. Traps? I’ve set them. They don’t go for the bait, no matter what we use. They were eating our pears, so we put pears out. They stopped eating pears. Eating our avocados, so we put
If there were a director I’d choose to helm a reenactment of the scene at my house every October, it would be Peter Jackson. Hands down, slam dunk, no brainer. Because whoever it was would have to be able to capture the essence of a battle that spans years, not just days or weeks. Every year, I think it’ll go differently. I’ve made changes to my defense. I’ve plugged up holes, reinforced traps and bait, come up with new approaches that helped me win the war last year. But every year, it’s the same thing. I picture those little rodents