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Animals My Home

Mouse

There have been at least three sightings, although the first couple of times I saw him, I wasn’t at all sure of myself, and I laid it off as a wind bestirring flutter, or maybe it was a shadow, maybe the shadow of a slender limb… something like that. Then when Sam and Lil were here a couple of days before our reception and Sam and I were sitting in the living room, Sam looked over at me and spoke in his slow deliberate way, “Shirley, I just saw a mouse.”

Yep, we have a mouse, hopefully of the bachelor variety, and preferably a bachelor with no immediate plans of posting banns, and certainly one lacking visions of cozied up hearth and family. I saw him clearly when he rounded the corner of the study a couple of weeks ago, a cute little fat thing, brown—a soft mousy brown. He scuttled under a book shelf. I told Jerry.

Jerry, in a most manly way, went straight to the garage, looked over his cache of weapons and brought out three evil traps. He set the snares, greatly enhancing their mouse appeal by spooning onto each one a blob of peanut butter—Laura Scudders crunchy variety. He placed them in various spots in the study. The traps set around here for several days—always empty of mouse—until I grew so tired of looking at them and so wearied of having to remember not to step on one, that I picked them up and put them atop the dryer. Anyway the peanut butter had dried up, and since we didn’t catch anything, maybe he had left us and was now roaming the plains of Crestline, or at least was checking out the environs of the basement.

Wednesday, as Jerry and I sat at the bar, and as Jerry was holding forth on some topic of great import, his body suddenly took on a wild jerk, and then his mouth fell silent. For a minute.

He said now, “Shirley, I see a mouse.” Following the arrow of his eye, I too saw the little brown fella. Poor thing, he was confused, skittered back and forth and then ran beneath a cabinet. Must be a space there big enough, for he disappeared.

Jerry had taken himself from the bar and gone to the kitchen closet. “I’m going to get that rascal,” he asserted as he turned with a mighty broom in hand.

“What are you doing with that broom?” I demanded.

“I’m going to kill that mouse.”

“I’m not watching this!” I jumped from my stool and fled to the study.

I listened for loud thuds and soft squeals…and heard nothing.

“Where are those traps, Shirley?”

“On the dryer, Jerry.”

They’re set now around the kitchen, and have been since two nights ago. They are devoid of mouse.

By Shirley Buxton

Still full of life and ready to be on the move, Shirley at 81 years old feels blessed to have lots of energy and to be full of optimism. She was married to Jerry for 64 years, and grieves yet at his death in August of 2019. They have 4 children, 13 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren...all beautiful and highly intelligent--of course. :)

29 replies on “Mouse”

Thank you Sis. Buxton… I guess the surprise is not going to happen. Hopefully my Dad will still like it though. Just keep practicing your surprise look Dad!!!!

Again, Thanks Sis. Buxton.

Deena

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One of the highlights of my bleak existence is reading your blog. Of course I have no idea if she will re-read before the belly button day. I will practice being surprised….. I will start right now…. OH!!!!!Thanks SO much…. think she will buy it????

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Deena, good to hear from you.

Sorry about the book order situation. I am having a problem with Paypal and have not received notification of your order.

Never fear, though, I will put one in the mail tomorrow.

Love your sweet family.

sjbuxton

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Hello, I will make it short and sweet. My father is Dean Godair, for his birthday…which is Monday May 26th…I purchased your book “A Thousand Pieces”. I ordered it on 3/23/08 thinking I would get it by now. But I have not gotten it yet. My transaction ID # is:
6L26662241937825C.
Pay pal tells me its been paid for and up to ya’ll. I hope you can help me.
Thanks and God Bless,
Deena

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What about this. Place some powdered Benadryl into the smelly cheeseball peanut butter mixture. Sedate the little buggers then relocate to the forest. Hee Hee. Cat still available.

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I’m not really bored either, Shirley. Have a wonderful time at camp meeting, and I know you will. Wish I could drop in. Think of me once, when you are singing. And when you get back – no hurry – I want to get one of your books, via check not PayPal. I want the one about Jerry first.

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You make the presence of a little mouse in the house into a very interesting and amusing read. I find the mechanical traps work best if one mixes the peanut butter with a ball of smelly cheese. Once the peanut butter dries, it does not work so well.

I have sworn off the sticky traps or pads. One poor creature ate off his leg in order to escape. His screams still haunt me.

If we have to kill them, it is best to do so quickly. The trouble with poison is that they die in areas that are not accessible. Then the place really starts to smell mousey.

There are traps made to capture but not to kill; however, they work better with large rats and squirrels. Mice can be quite small and have the incredible ability to flatten themselves. That is how they are able to squeeze under doors.

Oh, by the way, there is almost always more than one. They travel in packs or families. Female mice are virtually always pregnant. They can have a new litter every few weeks and quickly become a serious infestation.

You say you see one mouse, but there is no way of knowing that it is always the same mouse.

Cats are helpful, but if overfed, end up playing with mice, and sometimes inadvertantly, let them get away.

Wish you well, eek!

Father Joe

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Speaking of houses, how about your kitchen progress?

I’m not bored and afraid I can’t get into any real estate deals—unless of course, you come across something we just could not pass.

Today is a very busy day, about which I will post later. We will leave for camp meeting—probably. A shipment of my books is due here today, and after that delivery, if it is not too late, we will leave, driving as far as Ventura.

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Can’t you just see a demonstration of the little critters hoisting aloft their tiny signs.

What about Mickey? I understand he may be standing in the unemployment line.

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You’re right, Helen. We need mouse-readable directional signs so the poor babies will not get themselves into such treacherous situations. They’re so cute, but they just don’t belong in our houses—especially when they get so brave as to parade around in blaring daylight wearing a tophat, yet.

Rebecca has a cat. She assures me our mouse emergency would be dismissed easily if we borrowed him for awhile.

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We’ve played this game before. Our cat caught one and had it entirely in his mouse, except for the tail, but he let it go, and Bill caught it with some kind of pliers and took it, squealing, outside and released it. Thankfully, I was in bed, when all of this happened. I think it’s fair that we leave mice alone outdoors, and they in turn leave us alone inside.

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