Way back in March of 2004 (leans on cane)
I wrote about an immediate need to purge my garage of mice. As with all immediate needs, I relegated it to my ToDo list, the surest means of securing the activity from completion.
In January, our drive accumulated enough snow that clearing it became mandatory, so I prepped the trusty '74 John Deere 212 with the snowblower and tire chains (damned things) and fired it up. I swear it was
moving day; mice scattered every which way, including loose. At least half a dozen of the little critters. So, I finally ordered me a live trap.
Funny thing about live traps. They catch mice. Live mice. Then, the mouse has naught to do but wait, making determined but ultimately futile attempts to escape. And if the environs of the live trap are not hospitable, such as, oh, say, freezing temperatures, the trap's adjective must then be considered as within quotation marks. So, the Pirate's carelessness pasted little wings on and handed a little harp to its first victim. I stashed the trap until weather permits.
On my drive to work this morning, the corner of my eye spied one of the little scamps running from beneath my seat, between Akane's feet (our Japanese exchange student), and up under the dashboard. Then came the grinding of the vent fan. So I flicked off the fan and informed Akane of our little visitor. While I floundered, attempting to describe the situation without knowing Japanese for mouse (which, it turns out, is mausu in katakana... there is apparently no native word for mouse; are there no mice in Japan?) the wee beastie clawed his way from under the dash and dropped onto the floor next to Akane's right foot. "Ooooh," she laughed, and reached into her bag for her camera. Stuart Little politely sat still while she snapped a couple photos and I pulled into the petrol station slash McDonalds nearby. "Not hamusutaa?" asked Akane, and I explained that it is similar to a hamster but has a tail. Donning my gloves, I captured the furry fellow, who seemed either stunned by his encounter with the fan or perhaps just plain retarded. We walked him out into a field next to the station and released him into a sort of natural burrow formed by some construction scraps heaped around a young tree.
Now I'm one for two.
