So I think that we have a mouse in my kitchen. And I am definitely not happy about it. And I have been cleaning up after this unwelcome guest ever since we discovered that he stopped by. My hands are now raw again like they were back in March when this pandemic first started. Let me tell you what happened this morning.
My husband made his typical Saturday morning 3 slices of toast. A little while later, I went to make my own toast — there were a couple of slices left in the bread package, I pulled the first one out and it looked like the corner had just been cut off the bread. I figured that it had been done when it was packaged at the bread factory (this brand of bread typically has big holes in the center of the middle slices, its so annoying when you just want to make a sandwich!), so I didn’t think anything of it. We had a whole new loaf of bread so I just grabbed two slices from there and stuck them in the toaster.
When my husband came back inside the house, I casually mentioned the missing bread corner. He asked if it looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. I hadn’t even though about it, so I grabbed the old loaf of bread out of the garbage to look. And sure enough, once I turned that slice with the missing corner over, it looked like someone had taken a giant bite out of it. There were definitely teeth marks. Now we are grossed out because we have been eating from this loaf of bread all week. Did this happen at the store?? My husband said he’s seen mice at that grocery store before. Wait?! He thinks it’s mice that ate the bread?? I flip the plastic packaging over and there’s a hole in the bottom, a good sized hole. We cannot have mice, I will just freak out if we do.
I start pulling things off the counter were the bread basket always is and there’s a pile of mouse shit on my countertop. I am so not happy. My husband makes me put on a mask and gloves to clean up the poop, while he goes to Home Depot to buy traps. I cross my fingers that he won’t get the poison ones, because I don’t want these assholes to eat poison in my kitchen and then go off somewhere else to die a smelly death.
I start scrubbing everything that was on the countertop — utensil holders, salt and pepper shakers, olive oil bottle, my cannisters for flour. Everything that can go in the dishwasher does, everything else I scrub until the skin on the back of my hands starts to crack. The bread basket goes in the trash, so does that new loaf of bread. I don’t think we will be eating any sliced bread anytime soon.
I wash the countertops, the stove, sweep the floors — I find more poop, but it seems to be in a concentrated area if that is any consolation. I start hoping that maybe a cute little chipmunk found it’s way into our kitchen — he was disoriented and helped himself to some bread. I’m not sure why a lost chipmunk makes me feel better. Maybe it’s because I find mice so dirty — they poop all over everything and now I feel like I will not be able to get my kitchen clean. If it’s a mouse, the only option available might be that I need to move out of this house right now, I might not even pack a bag, because what if there is mouse poop in it??
My husband sets up a few traps in our kitchen, and a couple by our back door. They are the kill instantly traps, thank goodness, not that I want living things to die exactly, but if this mouse isn’t wearing a jacket and tie and writing me a monthly rent check, then I just don’t want him in my house. And especially in my kitchen — that’s our food in there, not a buffet for local animals!
We decide to go out for dinner, even though it’s Saturday, a day we usually cook at home. I don’t think either of us can stomach making food at home, especially my husband who ate toast that a mouse could have licked.
We got back from the restaurant just past 10 p.m. — my husband is excited to check the traps, but don’t mice usually come out at like 2 a.m.?? Well, of course, not our mouse! He’d already been out foraging in our kitchen and got stuck in one of the traps. He didn’t make it. But he left behind some poop for me to clean up.
Notes from a Self Quarantine 