Of mice and memories
A few weeks back, we had an unwelcome visitor of the rodent persuasion. (a mouse in the house) Jim had set several traps around the house with cheese and a few with peanut butter. None of them worked, they sat out for a day or so with no nibbles, no snaps, not even near-misses.
Apparently we had a lactose-intolerant mouse who didn’t like peanut butter. What animal doesn’t like peanut butter???
Anyway, I tried a different tactic. I took a small piece of one of the butter cookies my mother sent to us. I had a hard time keeping it on the trap, so I secured it with a small dab of butter.
That little sucker took the bait within 20 minutes of me sitting it down and leaving the room. I felt bad for the little thing though. (I don’t like killing another living thing unless it’s necessary … and let’s face it, it’s very necessary here!) Jim remarked that it seemed odd to have lived out here all this time and to have never had the slightest hint of mice problems until now. I replied, “That’s because we had a cat.”
You wouldn’t know it by looking at her, but Hobie was quite the mouser. She always kept this house free from ANY form of unwelcome visitor. Don’t get me wrong, she was THE little diva who liked getting her way and living the good life inside a nice cozy house. But when it came to anything invading her “domain”, the unfortunate critter was history in a heartbeat.
She passed away two years ago today. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long. I still think of her often. Many nights, when the house is dark and quiet, I’m almost sure that I’ve seen or heard her …
… and with this, I know her spirit still dwells here, with us.