When I was little girl, I couldn't kill spiders, insects, or bees when they infringed upon my space. Any tiny insect was scooped into a jar or gently picked up in a tissue and released to annoy someone else. Summertime fire flies lived a few hours captive in a jar so I could watch them blink off and on then enjoy their flight back into the night air.
When our children were young and we had moved to Florida, we had a small kitchen on Albury Ave where a mouse resided under the refrigerator. I don't remember how that came to be. So you probably know where this is leading.
With so many ups and downs in our temperatures lately, we've only had a fire about once a week, just on the dreary cold days. The house overheats with the fire going and the sun pouring in all three sides of the house. A few days ago Cliff brought more wood up from the stack in the backyard, split some for kindling, and brought in some larger logs for a long burn. That evening after supper as we settled in our recliners to watch Blue Bloods, a little grey fur ball darted from a stack of fire logs, took one look at me, and disappeared under the TV cabinet. We'd gone weeks without a mouse sighting so I had boxed the catch-and-release trap and stored it in the garage. The next morning the trap was brought back in the house, set up with his favorite hors d'oeuvre, a gluten-free cracker bit dabbed with fresh ground peanut butter topped with a morsel of sharp cheddar cheese and placed behind the TV stand as before.
Theory has it, and it worked last time, that when the mouse scoots in to eat, the door flaps up and traps the little sucker.
That night I heard no trap door snap closed nor scratching on plastic. In the morning I found a cage empty of food and mouse.
Ninja Mouse!
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