See How They Run - Part Two

You may wish to first read Part One prior to proceeding.

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The mouse and I would meet one more time, but with a much different outcome.

The scene was nearly identical. I was heading out to the freezer when I caught the mouse making an attempt at some free peanut butter. He ran to the same corner by the man door. I grabbed the same broom, but did not bother with the garden hoe. I flushed him out. He made his break for the cubby with the gas cans. I anticipated this move and outflanked him. He hesitated for a moment as he considered retreating back to the corner from whence he'd just come.

That brief pause was all I needed to strike. Those broom bristles must have felt like a bulldozer crashing down on him. Either that or a fantastically wonderful massage of a thousand little hands, pressing ever harder until it was too late.

Being a field mouse, I collected this daring mercenary and flung him into my neighbor's field.

I'd done it! Albeit, a bit unconventionally.

I tidied up a bit. I sucked up a bunch of mouse tracks with my shop vac and wiped down some shelves and other surfaces that had been defaced. Just for kicks, I put some fresh peanut butter on my plate. If "24" has taught me nothing else, it's that a dead hostage holds no political value or bargaining leverage, so I also fished Mortimer out of the bucket and launched him into the same neighbor's field. (It's okay. They throw their garbage onto my property, so it all works out.)

And that, my friends, is the story of how I single-handedly rid...

The trap was tripped again. My peanut butter went missing. These mice like their peanut butter like that squirrel likes his Honey Bunches of Oats. I wished that all of the mice would just fall into the bucket just as the first had done. That was so much easier. 

I went inside to share the bad news and double-check that Brookie wasn't the one who had eaten the peanut butter. Sara was making some chocolaty-peanut butter treat and as luck would have it, had just emptied a jar of peanut butter.

I tossed the whole jar, sans lid, into the bottom of the bucket. The bait on the plate was not working out for me. At least this would tempt the mouse into the bucket. I hoped that he wouldn't be able to stand on the jar and jump out of the bucket. Still, I had to take that risk.

That mouse must have been watching me the whole time, waiting for me to leave so that he could get at his peanut butter. Because no more than ten minutes later I popped my head back into the garage and saw that the trap had again been tripped. I peaked over the edge of the bucket and, low and behold, there was my mouse chowing down inside the Skippy jar. 

It didn't seem to bother him when I slipped the lid onto the jar and tightened it down. 

Nor did he mind when I tossed his jar into the recycle bin, or that I rolled him down to the street on trash day.

End of problem? Unknown. I'm afraid if I set my trap again that it will reveal the presence of yet another mouse. However, I have not seen any new mouse tracks yet. I wish I knew where their hideout was.

I do not delight in hunting mice. The one life lesson I remember from my paternal grandfather was never allow another living thing to suffer an unnecessarily long or painful death. I.e. don't torture. I thought about that every moment I was dealing with those mice. Mortimer probably had it the worst, dying of thirst, allegedly. The second mouse met his fate quickly. And the third died a happy death by asphyxiation in his peanut butter haven. He probably didn't even notice.