That sounds a bit odd, given the typical insinuations associated with that phrase, but it's relatively literal in this case. Oats were spilled liberally within the pantry (the literal part) by my son (the relative part) while taking them down from the topmost shelf.
To his credit, he did make a modest effort to clean up the visible mess, yet he missed those scattered amongst the tea bin, mugs, bowls, and wine bottles along the way to the floor. Jen and I found and attended to the residual cleanup effort over the following week. Only to see, in a small bowl on the bottom shelf, evidence of another's attempt to assist in clearing the same scattered grains.
Mouse poop.
It's not the first time I have encountered evidence of rodents living in this house. It's typical of our natural surroundings and proximity to the foothills to be on constant vigil against their intrusion. When we had the attic cleaned and re-insulated last year before moving in, the sounds of their vacuuming made me imagine the cleanup effort of a burst container at the Jelly Belly factory. So, with a grain of salt, I reacted to the grain of feces by sighing and accepting that an eradication effort was now on my plate.
After clearing and cleaning the pantry from bottom to top and back down again, utilizing the effort also to thin out and reorganize things, I went about finding locations and opportunities to "take care of" the mouse, in true Vincent Vega fashion.
As a practicing Buddhist, killing anything feels inherently wrong. Life is sacred, and I have no right to take another at any level. Yet, as a homeowner and somebody who wants to ensure no health or safety issues exist within our home. After doing a reasonable degree of both soul searching and researching, I set out a trap where I found further evidence of mouse droppings – at the back edge of the washing machine against the garage wall.
Following the abundant available advice online, I spent a day or two setting the stage. The directions were to first place the trap along the wall, unset and without bait, so it might become commonplace and accepted as such by any unwelcome guests. You want the rodent to get used to it being there. I allowed it to be there for a couple of days and then, without setting it, baited it with a small amount of peanut butter. This next step is to acclimate the mouse to the trap, allowing it to become at ease with the device and accessible food on it. Which would hopefully result in a quick resolution once the trap activated. (I also had to consciously block access to the trap from a pair of peanut butter-loving dogs who would be likely harmed by the triggered trap as well. So, a board and heavy box were positioned to block access.)
The following day, the peanut butter was gone. It had taken the bait. I replaced the bait, again without setting the trap to trigger, and returned it to its position against the wall.
The following day, the peanut butter was gone. It was "go time". I set the trap fully, with fresh Jif on the now 'loaded' trigger.
I was still trying to figure out exactly what I was dealing with. I assumed it was either a rat or a mouse. Although the droppings in the pantry were small, I found both small and large in the garage without knowing what was 'current.' All I had on hand were rat traps, used successfully in the attic at least ten years prior. I thought whatever it was would be killer instantly by the neck or back-breaking impact of the spring-loaded mechanism upon the slightest touch.
I disliked the thought of hearing a sudden snap from the comfort of the living room or kitchen almost as much as I dreaded going out to find and extract the dead rodent. Or much worse, significantly harming but not instantly killing it. The idea of inflicting suffering is ten times worse to me than infecting an instant and hopefully painless death. I wrestled with my couscous as I carefully baited the trap and set it to trigger, wishing instead that the intended victim would simply agree to and honor the concept of boundaries, keeping to itself out of sight, out of our home and out of our food supply.
With the trap now in position, I sighed, resigned to my lot as executioner, and went about my day's activities. Doing so included frequent trips into the garage for one reason or another. Each time, I would gently hold my breath while glancing towards the trap's location in preparation to witness the carnage of my handiwork. And each time, I was spared the gruesome sight of a dead rodent. The trap was still in the same place each time, empty, still waiting to be tripped.
After almost a full day without results, I ventured a bit closer. I could not see the bait. Grabbing a nearby flashlight, I shined it on the clean metal catch, confirming the bait was indeed gone. The trap was still set, and that "catch" is very sensitive. The slightest pressure on it would have set the trap off. That was where the peanut butter had been when I set it there.
At a loss to fully understand this, I carefully replaced the bait with another small smear placed directly on the catch, set the hammer to the cocked position, and returned it using a blue long-handled "grabber" to gently slide it into position without triggering it.
I returned within an hour or two and found the bait missing. Again.
I replaced it, again, meticulously positioning it not only on but also UNDER the triggering mechanism, certain this would do the trick.
A few hours later, the bait was gone, while the trap remained cocked and ready to go.
I was now on day five of this eradication effort. I was getting irritated, frustrated, and deeply confused. Confused to the point of wondering if peanut butter might evaporate. I literally asked Jen if that was possible, and she laughed at the stupidity of the idea, as did I once I thought it through. Somehow, though, it was disappearing.
I decided that my next course of action needed to be a bit of covert surveillance.
I moved a night vision wifi security camera from the back of the garage into position directly in front of the trap. I set the camera's app to notify me of any motion in real-time so I could be alerted and see what was taking the bait.
With the trap set and the camera positioned to record and alert me, I went about my day. A short while later, I walked past and glanced at the trap; the bait was gone. Again!
I had not received any alert from the camera. The security camera settings to alert me were confirmed to be set. correctly; however, it did not. I still don't know why. Likely a conflicting setting tied to some other parallel settling like "do not disturb," but at this point, I was more focused on what the hell was happening with the bait over the alerting of the app.
I started to wonder again if the peanut butter evaporated. It was a recurring reach for some rational explanation.
Although I received no alert, the camera captures and saves videos continuously for a day or two's history, depending on the size of the memory card. I quickly reviewed several segments of "recent footage" in 10-minute increments until, after numerous blocks of nothingness, I finally saw some unusual motion as I scrubbed through the video.
From behind the washing machine came a tiny little mouse. It approached the trap, dwarfed by its size. It stood to the side of the catch and gently, delicately licked the peanut butter off without putting any pressure on the catch to set it off f and released the hammer.
It skittered away as quickly as it appeared, likely in response to sounds coming from within the kitchen, such as my ranting in frustration over this multi-day endeavor going nowhere and wondering if peanut butter could evaporate.
I have to admit that the mouse was kinda cute. And clever, seemingly, too. I also noted that its size in relation to the trap was diminutive. I removed the trap at that point, realizing that had it been triggered, the mouse would have definitely been hurt but probably not killed as mercifully as I had hoped. It might have incurred a broken hip or tail or leg and then thrashed and suffered in pain indefinitely until I became aware of the situation, retrieved it, and had to manually kill it myself just to put it out of its misery.
A web search quickly confirmed that I was using the wrong size trap. It turns out that you can't catch a mouse with a rat trap. I had to go buy mouse traps. And I did so. I drove to Home Depot, bought a set of smaller mouse traps, returned home, baited one, put it in position, and went about my business. I still wasn't thrilled about the killing aspect, especially after seeing how cute it was, but I was rationalizing that at least now, when it did return, took the bait, and triggered the trap, it would be more humanely dispatched than it would have via the larger version. I was glad things had not gone a more unpleasant route for both of us.
A few hours. later, I walked past the smaller mouse trap, still set, and noticed the bait was gone, yet again!
I went directly to the camera's video capture. I searched until I found the footage of the mouse doing the same thing. Standing safely to the side of the smaller mouse trap, delicately licking the bait off without triggering it.
I was starting to admire and respect this creature. I was impressed with how something so small could possess such intelligence and survival skills. I could no longer, in good conscience, intentionally kill this sentient being. I would trap it instead and release it into the foothills where it would have a chance to survive or perhaps end up being a meal to a coyote or bird. At least nature would play out its course devoid of my selfish intervention.
There are many options online to catch mice, ranging from elaborate Rube Goldberg-ish contraptions with ramps leading onto a paint bucket with a weight-based trap door to a stripped-down simple "chamber" box with an entry and no exit, similar to larger ones found in the back alleys behind restaurants. I returned once again to the hardware store and home again with the simple solution. A plastic chamber-based trap where the mouse could enter for bait and, due to how the one-way door worked, would be unable to exit.
I baited the chamber without the lid, set it in place and returned a short while later to find the peanut butter gone. I replaced the peanut butter, put the lid on it this time, set it in place and left it for his return and ultimate capture.
I checked repeatedly over the next 24 hours. The chamber remained empty. I eventually assumed adding more fresh Jif might help attract him. I retrieved the box, opened the lid and found, much to my shock and surprise, that the bait was gone. It had been licked away. That thing managed to get in, eat the PB, and then somehow exit, regardless of the one-way door's intended design.
My admiration for my new friend grew to the point of considering him my new friend. This was definitely not an animal deserving even an instant and merciful death. No, this was almost worth keeping as a pet, taking him on tour alongside my opera-singing frog or leveraging his stunning intellect and skills to build an army of mice and eventually rule the world.
I reset the chamber trap and put the camera back into position to see how it managed to get in and back out. And although I could watch him climbing around and atop it, he was not going back in. I suspect the initial escape may have been difficult enough that he was unwilling to risk it again.
By this point, It had been over a week or more since this whole effort had begun. I had gone from hesitation to resolve to gratitude and admiration but had yet to capture it. I needed to do so. While relating the detailed drama to my visiting brother and his wife, he mentioned having used the more "extensive paint bucket" method and how well it worked for them. "Every time" were his words as he departed to go visit our mom for the evening.
I thought, since I have a bucket and a good' 'DIY" sensibility, maybe it was worth a try. Nothing else had worked so far. I watched one YouTube video on " catching and releasing" using this method. (Others included having water in the bucket so the mice would drown, which I still consider inhumane). Once I understood the mechanics of the bucket approach, I searched the garage and house for the necessary makeshift supplies. I used a plastic plate and a cut piece of a plastic clothes hanger for the pivot point support. I taped things into position on the bucket using painter's tape and attached a yardstick onto the side with a binder clip to provide an access ramp. I put the peanut butter bait in place at the edge of the plate where the mouse's weight would theoretically cause the plate to tip, and the mouse would fall into the bucket. I positioned the ramp where the traps had been, set a few soft towels in the bucket so its landing would be soft, positioned the camera using a flexible tripod, and went back inside to monitor what happened.
I went inside, sat down, and watched in real-time; within minutes, my little friend ascended the ramp toward the smell of peanut butter.
It paused at the top of the yardstick and sniffed. It then moved along the bucket's edge to obtain a good vantage point for the bait. I watched as he paused and surveyed the scene. I wondered if I was about to watch him manage to stretch out just enough to be able to lick the bait up without offsetting the balance of the plate. And that is exactly what he started to do.
That mouse laid down and stretched out on its belly, its rear feet still at the bucket edge, and was able to start consuming! I was stunned and assumed this would be the first of a few "dial it in" failures before hopeful eventual success. Just then, a moment later, in an effort to continue eating, it shifted those hind legs and scooted forward a tiny bit closer to the bait, and then he was gone. I didn't see him fall in. It took a moment for me to assess if there was a video glitch, and he had retreated to safety until movement was visible within the bucket beneath the edge of the plate.
The trap had worked on the first try. In less than 1 hour, I accomplished what I'd planned to do more than a week prior.
I quietly and gently approached the bucket. He was skittering about and trying repeatedly to leap out (coming quite close a couple of times). I praised his intellect and acknowledged his week-long valiant skills and survival against all odds. I sent my brother a short video of him, acknowledging that it works "every time."
As much as I had become attached to it, and as cute as he was in person, It was not an option to keep him as a captive pet in a tiny cage. I followed my initial plan, driving him up to the foothills about 2 miles from our home. When I let him go he ran from the bucket as I listened to the diminishing sounds of rusting leaves. I drove home with a sense of pride, connection, and perhaps a bit of melancholy over this experience ending.
Whatever fate awaits them, respecting their life and intelligence felt like good karma.
