The Mouse
When I found the tell tale signs of mouse activity on a recent search round the garage for camping equipment I knew just what to do. A short time later, after a trip to the local hardware store, I was the proud possessor of the ‘Little Nipper’ mousetrap, reassured by the declaration on the packaging that: the last thing it does is nip.
An hour later after a frank exchange of views with my wife and a further journey to the hardware store I was a less than proud possessor of a Live Capture mouse trap. She’d told me that mouse traps were dangerous and could hurt someone. I remained calm and explained that’s exactly why I’d bought it and that I fully intended to do more that hurt the verminous little sod!! The children could get their fingers caught in it, and did I want to spend the afternoon in Casualty with a screaming child with broken fingers? Well of course I didn’t I replied. Well change it then. So I changed it.
The man in the shop had smiled when he saw me and was reaching for the humane catcher even before I reached the counter. It happens a lot apparently – man discovers mouse, gets mouse trap, wife sends him back for humane catcher. The man behind the counter was gloomy about my chances of the humane catcher working, ‘They’re a bugger to catch live you know!’ This less than optimistic view was endorsed by Rentokill who manufacture the Live Capture trap. The instruction leaflet explained the difficulty of capturing live mice and advised the use of multiple traps. I suppose at £4.99 each they would.
They also suggested that the trap was checked at no longer than six hour intervals: in order not to cause distress to captured mice. I threw the leaflet in the bin safe from prying eyes. According to Rentokill peanut butter is the best bait but I used bread and jam. My six year old son was intrigued by the preparations and asked innocently why I’d decided not to kill the nasty verminous little sod after all. I told him to ask his mother. The trap duly baited was placed in the garage and the door closed and locked for the night.
Fourteen hours later I opened the garage to check and to my amazement the door of the trap was closed. I stood there looking at it in wonderment. A bugger to catch be buggered; I’d caught one. I rushed back into the kitchen full of my trapping exploits for a well earned bacon butty and a cuppa. Over breakfast my son and I decided what to do next; he wanted to throw it over next door’s fence but, mindful of the advice from the hardware shop man that if I let it go in the garden it would be back in the garage quicker than me, I thought it better we took it down to the local park and released it there.
When I cautiously opened the trap a little furry face and whiskers appeared. The mouse looked at me. I looked at the mouse. You’re a lucky bugger I told it as I shook the trap and it bounded off into the wilds. My son skateboarded home happily secure in the knowledge that his father could catch live mice if necessary, until he fell off and put his tooth through his lip. I won’t tell you what his mother said but I spent an afternoon in Casualty after all!
An hour later after a frank exchange of views with my wife and a further journey to the hardware store I was a less than proud possessor of a Live Capture mouse trap. She’d told me that mouse traps were dangerous and could hurt someone. I remained calm and explained that’s exactly why I’d bought it and that I fully intended to do more that hurt the verminous little sod!! The children could get their fingers caught in it, and did I want to spend the afternoon in Casualty with a screaming child with broken fingers? Well of course I didn’t I replied. Well change it then. So I changed it.
The man in the shop had smiled when he saw me and was reaching for the humane catcher even before I reached the counter. It happens a lot apparently – man discovers mouse, gets mouse trap, wife sends him back for humane catcher. The man behind the counter was gloomy about my chances of the humane catcher working, ‘They’re a bugger to catch live you know!’ This less than optimistic view was endorsed by Rentokill who manufacture the Live Capture trap. The instruction leaflet explained the difficulty of capturing live mice and advised the use of multiple traps. I suppose at £4.99 each they would.
They also suggested that the trap was checked at no longer than six hour intervals: in order not to cause distress to captured mice. I threw the leaflet in the bin safe from prying eyes. According to Rentokill peanut butter is the best bait but I used bread and jam. My six year old son was intrigued by the preparations and asked innocently why I’d decided not to kill the nasty verminous little sod after all. I told him to ask his mother. The trap duly baited was placed in the garage and the door closed and locked for the night.
Fourteen hours later I opened the garage to check and to my amazement the door of the trap was closed. I stood there looking at it in wonderment. A bugger to catch be buggered; I’d caught one. I rushed back into the kitchen full of my trapping exploits for a well earned bacon butty and a cuppa. Over breakfast my son and I decided what to do next; he wanted to throw it over next door’s fence but, mindful of the advice from the hardware shop man that if I let it go in the garden it would be back in the garage quicker than me, I thought it better we took it down to the local park and released it there.
When I cautiously opened the trap a little furry face and whiskers appeared. The mouse looked at me. I looked at the mouse. You’re a lucky bugger I told it as I shook the trap and it bounded off into the wilds. My son skateboarded home happily secure in the knowledge that his father could catch live mice if necessary, until he fell off and put his tooth through his lip. I won’t tell you what his mother said but I spent an afternoon in Casualty after all!