Killing them would have been the straightforward solution. I didn't want to kill them. I wanted them gone.

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They come bent on pillage and plunder, roaming tribes driven from their native home to invade mine. No doubt they have heroic ballads celebrating the boldest among them, justifying their ravaging ways, and making a case for either Us or Them.

History is replete with examples. I understand their situation.

Understanding does not preclude resistance. When the marauders breech my walls, I must say: “Stop! Not here! Not now!”

Killing would have been the straightforward solution. I didn’t want to kill them. I wanted them gone. I considered the possibilities. Maybe I could capture and then deport them to some place better for them and me. I went to the hardware store. The Havaheart #1020 - catch and release mousetrap, seemed perfect. It imprisoned individual offenders without bloodshed. The trapdoor slammed shut at the slightest touch. The design was simple and ruthlessly efficient. No mouse ever escaped. Mice are notoriously smart, this trap deceived them every time.

I caught them one at a time every night. After breakfast I would drive the encaged prisoner to the nearby Metro park. I released each one at the same spot. I reasoned that with their friends and relatives there to greet them they would stay put. They did. I caught thirty-six mice in all. None returned. The incursion was over.

That was more than ten years ago.

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Last week I saw a mouse. No problem. I knew what to do. The Havaheart #1020 had lost none of its efficiency. There is one minor problem. I’m retired now. I no longer drive past the park every day. I would rather walk to some far-off part of the yard than drive to the park. The brush-pile, next to the stream, next to the woods, seemed an ideal location. Seven or so of the new mice had already been installed at the brush-pile when a friend gave me cause for worry. “How far from your house is that brush-pile”? “Don’t know exactly, probably more than a hundred feet. “They’ll be back”.

This was said with convincing authority. Now what?

I guess I’ll keep moving mice to the brush-pile until futility is undeniable.

Yesterday’s mouse gave birth to four pups while in the cage. I’m getting discouraged. No-more-mister-nice-guy might be all that’s left. I’m not a monster but I’ve no intention of chauffeuring mice to the Metro park every day.

Maybe there’s a poison that kills painlessly.

I went to the hardware store to find just such a poison.

I discovered an alternative. There, alongside the traps and poisons were electrical devices that promised signals inaudible to humans but intolerable to mice. It was worth trying. I chose the Victor Pest Chaser #M750KR. It was a small white cube that plugged into an ordinary wall outlet. A blue ring of light appeared when installed. The ring of blue light was the only assurance the #M750KR’s was powered on. Were the mice even now pressing tiny paws to their ears and scrambling out of range as fast as they could. I had only faith to guide me.

I had doubts.

Days went by, then weeks - no mice.

Electronic warfare seemed to work.

Then, four weeks later, a new mouse showed up. What went wrong? Was it the lighting storm. Maybe the storm knocked out the #M750KR. The blue ring of light was still on, though that mightn’t necessarily mean the inaudible signal was still on. I bought another Victor #M750KR.

Again, no mice, so far.

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Is this business settled? I hope so. I can’t be sure. Time will tell. I don’t like being pushed. I can feel my heart start to harden. I’m not there, yet. I’m a reluctant killer. Still . . . Dead mice don’t return.

If it comes to me or them, It won’t be them.

I know where to get the poison.

By K. L. Shipley

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