According to Hofmann: Mark, the great mouse trapper
I have to admit, I was never much of a hunter. Sure, one would think it’s easy to walk out into the woods, hunker down in a secluded spot, let the serenity of nature ease its way into your body and soul before using a shotgun to blow a squirrel away.
Nope, I’m the guy who sits on a log, falls asleep and ends up with a 16-point buck approaching me to sniff my sleeping husk, mark its territory on me and move on without me even knowing what had happened.
Plus, I broke my foot while deep in the woods during muzzleloader season when I was a kid and had to walk out, so that kind of turned me off from the whole experience.
At the time, my one regret was I didn’t get a chance to experience any trapping – you know, setting traps outdoors to capture exotic animals like minks, muskrats, foxes, beavers and Jessica Biel.
However, when you get older and find yourself in a domesticated situation, you’re drafted into the wonderful world of trapping mice … mainly because my wife said trapping Jessica Biel is off the table.
Yes, recently some little rodents found their way into my house, and I admit it’s my fault because I keep setting out large chunks of meat on the kitchen counter as a sacrificial offering, but maybe I should go back to church because I think I’ve forgotten how religion and praying works.
Anyway, the first thing I did was tell my wife, who yelled at me for telling her that a mouse was in the house and freaking her out because, you know, it’s always better to live in ignorance.
Not that I blame her. When you first see the signs that a mouse or mice have been in your stuff, you do feel violated, you feel disgusted that a scurvy rodent has silently trodden throughout your home, eating your food, getting into packages and spreading disease like HPS, Leptospirosis, lymphocytic choriomeningitis, plague, typhus and especially the heebie-jeebies.
And let’s not forget the turds! How often do these things take the Browns to the Super Bowl? It’s like Pac-Man moving along my kitchen, but instead of gobbling up rows of pellets, it’s depositing a collection of poop pills.
I mean, I’m an animal lover and a live-and-let-live sort of guy, but one can only take so much, so the second thing I did was buy a mousetrap.
As the saying goes, “Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door … but not a path for mice because they give me the heebie-jeebies!”
Of course, there’s the old standard trap consisting of that thin rectangle of wood fused with the spring-loaded steel arch of death. Nothing more fun than trying to avoid getting your fingers slapped as you try setting bait on a metal plate attached to a steel arm that’s so sensitive, the trap is set off by the vibrations due to your heart going into overdrive in anticipation of the arch slamming down on your fingers.
Then there are the glue traps, which I mistakenly referred to as “mouse pads,” which led to many mistaken orders online until I got the name right.
The glue traps are effective, a bit too effective, as mice and rats have been known to gnaw their limbs off to escape and the last thing I need is a three-limbed mouse out for revenge. Also, if a mouse is passive and remains stuck on the trap, it’s then up to you to “dispatch” it, which, if you’re an animal lover, gives your day a dark start.
The other method is the poison route, where a mouse eats the tainted bait and runs away to die so it’s out of sight and out of mind … until a few days later when a foul smell takes you, your nose and your queasy stomach on a scavenger hunt in your home where there are no winners.
Turns out, I did find a better mousetrap consisting of a plastic platform with a spring-loaded arch of death, but it has an easier way to set the arch and safely place the bait without constantly tripping the trigger and fraying your nerves.
And, best yet, it worked well.
Now, because of those rodent-caused violations I mentioned earlier, I’ll state the obvious that you want nothing more in the world to be rid of that rogue mouse in your home, office, vehicle or sweatshop; however, once it’s done, all you can think of is, “Aw, he looks like Mickey Mouse!”
I also get a strange, untrusting look from our pet hamster as if it knows I just killed one of its distant cousins.
Anyway, whenever mice are in season, I find myself to be a competent trapper, as I have the tools and the experience of at least knowing not to set out mouse pads with meat piled on them.
Trust me, that doesn’t end well, no matter how much you pray.
According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. His books, “Good Mourning! A Guide to Biting the Big One…and Dying, Too” and “Stupid Brain,” are available on Amazon.com.