The Squeamish Society

I admit that the site of a big spider sends me running for something sturdy with which to smack the critter, an old shoe works great on crickets and water bugs, and ants don't have a chance if they try coming into my home. I have, however, been known to catch and release tree frogs when they sneaked in the back door, but there is one creature that the good Lord made that sends me running down the hall with my stomach churning—and that's the gray house mouse!

Now we had such a visitor in our home the past few days. He (she?) managed to chew into my butterscotch and chocolate chip bits, my bag of dough for peanut butter cookies, the packages for blueberry muffins, the box of raisins ... and more. This visitor also managed to enjoy the peanut butter from 4 different traps! Then we got some Victor traps. Nice things, Victor traps. They always get their mouse, and they earn high praise from me.

This afternoon I was packing boxes of glasses and had stepped away from the kitchen. I'm glad I did, because 10 minutes later Mr. Retired came and gave me the good news that the mouse was done for and wouldn't be raiding the pantry again.

“Hurray!”, said I and waddled down the hall to the kitchen to have a look-see. Now as President of the Squeamish Society one would think I had more smarts, but I don't—besides I'm as curious as the next person. I gingerly opened the cabinet and took a good look. Yup, that visitor was done for!

I gleefully asked Mr. Retired how he was going to remove said visitor, and he said, “Carefully.” LOL! Then he suggested that I hold the plastic bag and he would dump the mouse in the bag. Oh no way ... no way at all was I going to be anywhere near that plastic bag. I was, however, more than willing to dig the plastic bag out of the items packed for moving.

At this point Mr. Retired distracted me with chatter about something else and without thinking I opened the zip-lock and held it out. Suddenly I realized what was happening. EEEEEWWWWWWWWW! No way! No way! I tossed the bag to Mr. Retired and scooted clear across the room and stood in the doorway. He unceremoniously dumped the mouse in the bag and asked me to come hold the bag.

I tried. I really did. Honest. My fingers were mere inches from grabbing the top of the bag when I realized there just wasn't any way on God's green earth that I was going to be able to hold that bag without losing my lunch. I backed away shaking my hands and uttering squeamish little sounds. Mr. Retired just shook his head and chuckled. Then he set the bag down on the floor so he could put the trap down. That did it. I practically ran down the hall and refused to come back to the front of the house until that bag was in the trash can outside.

Now that the visitor is gone, I will don some plastic gloves and clean under the sink. Why plastic gloves? Well, it certainly wouldn't do for the President of the Squeamish Society to do something silly like come in contact with the droppings. Just imagine the squeamish sounds I'd make as I ran out of the front door and down the street.