Kill the Beast!

Dear Loyal Readers,

We humbly present for your perusal an unfortunate series of events:

In the beginning, Msr. Mouse existed for us only as a glimpsed tail or subtle pattering of feet. We had no issues with mice, mice can be very cute. Mice might even eat spiders! We didn't know.

Then there were mouse droppings next to our water filter. This was highly unwelcome. We discovered another smattering of pellets on our couch and chairs. The infestation had spread. Yet we did not act. We considered the presence of Msr. Mouse as an unsanitary test of patience.

Emboldened, the little beast interrupted an innocent game of cards. He graced us with an encore while Jack was praying, peering curiously into his backpack.

One hears stories of Man-Eating tigers, who upon their first taste of human blood are forever consumed with an insatiable lust for more.  So it was when Msr. Mouse first closed his tiny jaws on John's Trail Mix.  We short-sightedly conceded this loss, and allowed the monster to continue feeding on the tainted nuts.

Meanwhile, we stored our remaining rations on the impregnable glass patio table, the centerpiece of our living room. Please see exhibit A. Clearly this was an unscalable summit. Smugly complacent, we retired for the evening.

The mouse protested our inhospitality by littering used toilet paper throughout the bathroom and hall for several nights in succession.

This stalemate, however, was doomed from the start. As we happily munched on our 6 lb, multi-month supply of Glorious Trail Mix, we noticed that the raisins, once so succulent and fine, had gone a tad stale. With a cry, Andrea snatched a peanut a mere inch from Jack's lips and pointed in horror. A newly-gnawed hole, proof of the mouse's dastardly act, silently bled nuts and raisins on the table.

Outraged, we constructed the first TRAP (Trail-mix Revenge APparatus). The initial model consisted of: one five gallon bucket, 3.5 gallons of water, one red bandanna, salvaged Trail Mix, a chair, and a ramp (cleverly constructed from a seat cushion). See exhibit B.  Our mouse-inspired constructions went beyond the TRAP just described.  In the spirit of any bear-wary camper, we devised two "bear bags" and hung them from the edge of two very tall doors. See exhibit C. In addition, the Trail Mix found a place of honor above the door frame.  TRAP in place and food secured, we marched off to dinner singing a deeply-felt rendition of "Kill the Beast!"

We returned from dinner. Foiled again! The blasted mouse had eaten the bait and escaped unscathed. And so it was that TRAP II, TRAP III, and TRAP IV were born. Each with more precariously-positioned bait. One was too strong, another too weak. We failed to find the baby bear of mouse traps, the one that was "just right." The mouse lived on, fatter than ever; despairing, we abandoned our TRAP machinations.

So began the uneasy peace of Mouse and Man - each gazing at one another over a Maginot Line of bear bags.

This peace continued until Andrea spied a hostile pink ear suspiciously near the Trail Mix. Driven by his unholy thirst, Msr. Mouse had scaled an eight foot vertical surface and again feasted his fat face on our Trail Mix. Panic ensued, diplomacy abandoned, the mouse ran down the door frame. With uncharacteristic malice, Andrea sprang forward and slammed the door, hoping to squish the hairy intruder. She failed.

Woebegotten and forelorn, we turned in for the night. As we slumbered, the mouse danced in victory, scattering half-eaten M&Ms and feces throughout the room.

Still, we were consoled by our last defense: the bear bags. The Trail Mix was gone, but at least the remaining food was safe.

Sadly, we must report that the mouse recently pillaged our peanut butter crackers. Astonishingly, the bear bags were no match for Msr. Mouse.  They now hang from the living room ceiling fan and a metal bar suspended between sheer concrete walls. Will these precautions stand in the way of Msr. Mouse? Probably not.

We come to you in need, Dear Reader. We will warmly receive any and all ideas for TRAP V involving materials readily available in rural Haiti.

The mouse must die!

Sincerely,

Andrea & Jack