Of Mice, Men and Me

           There was a dead body in my kitchen a few mornings ago. And no, I’m not talking about my pre-caffeinated self or making a hyperbolic statement about anyone’s energy level (or lack thereof) in the morning. No metaphor here. I’m talking about a body in my kitchen that wasn’t breathing.

            Okay, so it was a mouse.

            I know I can be a little hysterical on the subject of mice, but luckily, my husband doesn’t mind them at all. A former research scientist, Jeff used to experiment on mice, and he seems to have an uncanny understanding of their ways.  For instance, the night before the mouse died, Jeff noticed that the peanut butter was gone, but the trap had not gone off.  

            “Ahhh,” he said, “he’s a clever one, our little guy.”

            “Listen honey,” I said, “I really don’t want to hear about his IQ.”

            “Unless he ate the peanut butter here first and then got caught in the other trap,” he mused.

             (Yes, there had been another death earlier this week.  But Jeff removed that body before I saw it so I wasn’t going to mention it.)

            “Just get rid of him, okay?” I demanded. “Please.”

            “Oh, I will,” he said.  “I will.”

            And true to form, Jeff did. He caught the little guy. And now, a few days later, we’ve got no more mice. We’re home free – so to speak.
            It’s funny how marriages evolve. If I’d married someone even more squeamish than me, I’d probably have to step up and be the brave one.

            And trust me I could be brave if I had to. Many years ago, we lived in Baltimore with, as it turned out, a large family of mice. Jeff sprang into action, taking those critters down one by one. But then he had to go out of town on business and for some reason, he didn’t dismantle the traps. One morning, I found a dead mouse in the kitchen. I thought about moving in with friends for the duration, but in the end, I decided to man up. I put on rubber gloves and swept the mouse (and the trap) into a plastic garbage bag.

            Afterwards, I was pretty exhilarated. I guess bravery can do that to you. When my husband called, I proudly told him what happened.

            “Wait a second,” he said. “You threw away a perfectly good trap?”