Rodent Wars

It was 3:30 Sunday afternoon. I'd just showered after an epic 60-mile bike ride, and I was plopped down on my bedroom floor drying my hair and congratulating myself for being such a badass. In the mirror, I saw a flash of something behind me and trained my eyes on the spot. Eek! A mouse. That's about the time I let out a squeal and jumped my bad ass up onto my bed.

We've had these visitors for nearly two months now, but they seem to be getting bolder. We've tried homemade and store-bought humane traps filled with treats fit for royalty - cheese, bread, peanut butter, even Karen's apple butter! They aren't interested. Our upstairs landlord set real traps and found all of his bait eaten the next day, only managing to catch one. Then he put out the poison. That seemed to cure his problem upstairs. Meanwhile, I ate several fistfuls of trail mix last week before noticing the large hole that had been gnawed in the bag. We switched to poison ourselves about a week ago, but the mice have turned their tiny noses up at it. On most days, we don't even see traces that they've been in the house. But every once in awhile, something like this happens. One morning, I went to move the garbage can from under the sink, and a mouse leapt out and ran under the stove.

Yes, I know. I lived in Africa. I had a rat terrorizing my place for weeks. Not to mention bedbugs, malaria-ridden mosquitoes, the occasional tarantula. I should be immune. But I want these suckers gone! They're really damaging my badass rating.