Not sure if anyone out there is interested, but the saga of the mice continues. As detailed in a recent post, last week we nabbed two mice that had taken up residence behind the stove and were climbing up the stove’s propane line to the counter top. By positioning a trap in just the right place, we nailed them as they stepped onto the counter.
I reset the trap, but two days went by with no further activity. I figured I’d leave the trap out for one more day, then pack it away until the next sign of rodent invasion.
Procrastination turned out to be a good move. On the third morning, there was a very small mouse caught in the trap; it was only one-third to one-half the size of the two we’d caught before. Clearly, we deduced, the original two were adults and they must’ve been making a nest back there. Knowing mice seldom have just one offspring at a time, I reset the trap. Sure enough, the next morning, we caught another juvenile.
There was a time in my life that I might have felt guilty about being a “baby mouse killer.” All I can say is: it’s remarkable what living in the country does to one’s attitude toward animals in general — and toward rodents in particular. If I catch Thumper in Mrs Yeoman Farmer’s garden, and the 12-gauge is close at hand, Thumper is going down no matter how old or young he is. Ditto for anything that takes up residence in the house.