And I had such good intentions.
And here is my confession. I let out a high-pitched scream like a little 8 year old boy years away from puberty. Scared that little mouse to death, and Stéphane, and I'm sure the rest of the apartment complex. I never, ever, anticipated being so scared of a little mouse! I think it was just about the last thing I was expecting at that moment. God knows I'll never forget it when I vacuum near the fridge the next time.
But our night with Mr. Jingles was far from over. The only thing worse than knowing there's a mouse in your apartment... is not knowing where it is. We had little more than a flashlight and the end of a broom to, ahem, take care of our furry friend. I was terrified that once we got him out from behind the fridge he would bolt into the rest of the apartment. I do not want a mouse near my food, but damned if I let him traipse about in my bedroom! I promptly barricaded the kitchen with
While moving the fridge, the little guy eloped to behind the stove, but even with the flashlight shining behind, below, sideways, diagonally... we could not find him. I finally, skeptically, suggested opening the bottom oven door. Where the oil drippings and crumbs go. Because who would be stupid enough to hide in the oven? (Would I turn the stove on if my friend Bugsy was in there? Anyone?) So I ever so slowly opened the oven door and two beady little eyes met my gaze. In retrospect, I should have turned on the oven right there. Ok, I kid. Mostly.
A failed attempt with the end of the broom scared Mr. Jingles to who knows where, and there he stayed for several more hours. I could not find him. But he did make an encore appearance an hour later. When he thought no one was looking. But oh. We were looking. Found his refuge in the little mouse hole we have now located in the corner behind the bathroom door. Because we had no mouse traps and every last thinkable mouse trap store was closed at 8pm on a Sunday, I did the next best thing. Stuffed a plastic bag down into the hole and secured it with a heavy candle on top. And had dreams about hundreds of mice all over the floor, chewing through plastic bags. I woke up more than once, swearing I had just heard him tip over that candle, his little feet scampering across the wood floors to escape.
Still haven't seen him again yet, but we've put out a nice tasty snack for when he decides to pay us another visit >:) Ug. I've never thought of myself as someone cruel to animals, but honestly. Not in my kitchen, Mr. Jingles. You've messed with the wrong lady.
So here's to hoping that my mouse encounters will be limited to one per... well one ever.