heebie jeebies

I sit down of a morning to read all your latest blog posts. When I’ve had some coffee, it’s time to visit KateShrewsday. You’ll know that Kate is a mine of information, she links things wonderfully and has great humour. She makes me think and smile and cry. Not today.

Today, Kate published a post about mice and my skin crawled. Those freaky, furry things? Uuuugh. Shudder.

When the student house I lived in first had a mouse, I wasn’t overly worried. (In my innocence I thought it was a mouse. As if.) It used to come out for a wee run round the living room, but nobody was very upset. We talked about borrowing a cat. We didn’t want to be emptying traps. We were preoccupied. We passed the buck. Noone took responsibility for actually doing anything. Before long, we were over run by the brutes. They scurried along curtains and chewed through the cable for the cooker. I became bothered. Worst of all, I had one in the bed with me. Believe me, I was now well and truely freaked out. (I remembered the tale of Granny squashing a rat in her armpit. She was living in a barn. People were hardier then.)

Herself had great belief in the power of a high pitched plug in gadget that apparently keeps mice away. Unfortunately, one of the few things that Handsome Husband remembers to do about the house is to switch off plugs. Not long ago we set traps and dumped the contents of the huge hot press (airing cupboard). The mice laughed. Rentakill were called into action. The big, fierce, ‘no vermin bother me’ man paled. He left enough poision to clear three normal domestic cases. He’s due back soon, to see if that’s worked. Uuugh. Shudder.

The Auntie has great belief in the repellent powers of St Martin’s magazine. (Yes, an actual paper magazine. No, I don’t know how it’s meant to work.) She has one in every drawer in the house, and no mice. She handed me over the rest of her stock so I can distribute them about Herself’s house (that means I have to gather up my courage and go in) and our house (to be sure).

When the poison has done what it has to do, we have to get a huge skip and some masks and start clearing. Everything in Herself’s garage needs dumped. Even the silver bobbly head Santa Claus that I have loved for ever. Herself and the old man bought it their first Christmas together- their last bit of peace before I arrived. They were young and joyful and full of plans for a long and happy life together. Silver Santa outlasted them both. Now it has fallen into the furry little paws or horrible massive teeth of the mice. Sorry Santa. I was hoping to purloin you for my own, but its too late for that. Uuugh. Shudder.

“And in some mediaeval imagery: for example images of Gertrude of Nivelles, (626-659) an abbess-turned-saint on whose robes mice nibble – the mouse is said to represent the very human soul.” If you think Kate is going to guilt me into not killing hundreds of mice with a line like that, you’d be much mistaken.

There’s only one good mouse…

Advertisements

23 thoughts on “heebie jeebies”

  1. I think they are cute but not running freely in my house. i have considered them as pets. When I mentioned it to a friend he suggested I get a kitten. Later when the mouse debate had long past he asked again out of the blue ‘Why do you not get a nice little kitten’. Must have been thinking about it. Might this fearless man be frightened of mice? My problem is that if I do get a few pet mice no one will agree to look after them should I want to go wandering. Have asked and received point blank refusals. I suppose I can rule you out now too? Just a few days now and again? If you had a chance to get to know them by name; play with them; talk to them; connect with them? 🙂

  2. I had a mouse in the flat once. Cat had it cornered. I was surprised how strongly I wanted him to catch it. In the garden, I don’t mind them. Sharing my indoor space? Absolutely not.
    Sorry about Santa.

    1. If we brought a cat into herself’s garage/ hot press/ attic, it would be best fed cat in town 😦
      I was surprised at the extent to which Santa bothered me, but of course, he’s really just a cipher …

  3. You have to watch that Kate, the nerve of her posting mousey musings. Then again you have to praise her, for evoking this post, good shtufffs, you.

    I think your Musophobia is common. One thing about mice an the fear and havoc they create, it’s not one of gender. Both, men and women grimace and jump about like imbeciles when a mouse scurries about -cartoons of elephants turning into a whimpering baby.

    Not much scares me when it comes to creatures and critters. Though I will give snakes of any kind a wide berth, but they don’t freak me out.

    Finally. Save Santa, save Santa!

  4. It does sound like you’ve got a few too many mice in your life! Poop droppings are not pleasant to share living accommodation with, that’s for sure. I hope you manage to evict all your squatters! 😉

  5. Very timely that you and Kate are talking bout mice. I cannot abide rodents! I am shrieky and girly and hysterical over the mere thought of them. My husband went up to our little trailer (like your caravan) in the mountains to get it prepared for us to “visit” this weekend. He came home to tell me that mice had taken over during the months we’ve been separated! He has supposedly cleaned it all up, but I’m just not sure how I’m going to react. I may not be able to get over it! So I am MOST sympathetic to your situation, Fiona. I’m sitting here cringing just reading it! I think my aversion is of phobic proportons! Debra

    1. eeew, Debra! Is there a motel nearby? I’m sure all be well and you’ll feel like a brave adventurer after the weekend. You will need to tell us all about it: our nerves will be frayed for you!!

  6. *shudders* All of my mother’s houses had mice, and some of them were bold enough to come out and watch tv with her. It was the ones that ran through the ceiling of my basement bedroom that skeeved me out the most. Those and the ones that had found the arsenic and dragged their rapidly desicating bodies to the edge of the sink or the base of the toilet. *SHUDDERS* No mice allowed!

    1. Oh no, dying mice would be even worse!!
      A good friend had a problem with mice and called in exterminators. Some time later she went to put on a garment she hadn’t worn in months, only to find a dead mouse hanging from it… There are too many horrible tales.
      Look what Kate started 🙂

  7. I haven’t been bothered by mice for many years. But the main thing is to make sure there’s not a crumb of food left out anywhere because that’s what attracts them.

  8. The One That Got Away

    We had a mouse in our kitchen. The cat bought it in;
    a small soft toy with a squeak to make the cat’s tail switch.
    But when the mouse had lost interest in being batted about
    or tossed in the air- it escaped to the safety of the dark

    right under the kitchen cupboards. It scrabbled around
    and found – underneath the built-in dishwasher –
    a home, safe from cats and inaccessible to humans.
    A comfortable existence, most of the time.

    Even a hot wash in the dishwasher above did not evict him.
    Believe me, Mum tried it.

    Sometimes a snout could be seen checking out the scene.
    Then if no cat about, the mouse would leave the under cupboard dark
    and nip across the floor, under the door – to the utility and the cat’s bowl.
    One lump of ‘Whiskas’ was a good sized meal for our little guest.

    Every now and then the cat would suspect and inspect.
    He’d sniff around gingerly then, tail upright; he’d walk off in a huff.
    But at night the mouse would explore, leaving small calling cards,
    far more than you would expect from one small mouse.

    We had a mouse in our kitchen. But it had to go.
    Mum said. She’d had enough.

    We returned from the shop with a trap and a jar of peanut butter.
    The trap was ‘environmentally kind’- designed to catch and nourish,
    so the mouse could be released (far away) and flourish.
    Night after night the cats bowl would be raided

    the carefully taped ‘under-door-gap-blockade’ – in tatters.
    Peanut butter untouched. This mouse preferred ‘Whiskas’.

    The mouse had outstayed its welcome. Two new traps were set
    (‘infallible’ it said on the box). The under-door gap was sealed
    with extra strength tape, heavy duty cardboard, and military precision.
    We went to bed with our fingers crossed.

    We had a mouse in our kitchen.
    But the one that got away did not get away again.
    We found him in the morning: snapped,
    stiff and cold, his nose poked in peanut butter.

    We looked at him for a long time and felt strangely deflated.

      1. glad you like it! It was commended once in a competition of children’s poetry judged by children…. I need to find an illustrator!

what do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s