The Mouse Won't Die!

There is either a clan of very similar-looking mice living in the walls of my building, or just one mouse who is a serious-ass motherfucker. I'm starting to think that, if I blew up a gas tanker this mouse was driving, all I'd do is reveal the T-800 robot skeleton underneath.

Here's why.

Since putting out my deadly D-Con pellet buffets, all evidence of mouse-itude have vanished from the Casa Del Kuch: no mouse turds, no vanishing soap, no mad dashes back-and-forth between the fridge and the pantry, nothing. For a short while, I thought the case was closed.

And this is the truly sick part... For a few nights afterward, I'd come home, sit down to write... and watch for the mouse from the corner of my eye as I worked. I had to admit, a tiny part of me had gotten used to having the mouse around. I kinda missed him.

I guess that's just human nature, but it's strange to find myself missing a creature I'd put a lot of effort into murdering. It's like in CHOPPER, when Eric Bana shivs a dude in prison, and two seconds later he feels bad and apologizes, even while the guy's lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Two nights ago, I wrapped up the pages I was working on and hit the sack. Lying there, waiting for sleep to overtake me, I heard a now-familiar rustling come from the fridge-to-pantry runway.

Rustle-scurry-rustle. Scurry-rustle-scurry.

Which meant there were EVEN MORE mice than I'd predicted... Or it was something else. Maybe the sound was just the wind making the blinds move around? Yeah, that must be it. I drifted off to dreamland...

Then last night the mouse returned, in his most brazen appearance yet.

I own a bicycle, a big, heavy, single-gear beach cruiser. I'd stuck it over by the fridge to keep it out of the way while I work. (If I put it outside, it'll vanish; welcome to LA).

I heard a scurry-rustle from behind the trash can next to the pantry. I quietly went over to look, craning my neck so I could see over the can without moving it.

The mouse was sitting there EATING THE D-CON.

As I've mentioned, a lot of D-Con has vanished lately. In fact, it was all gone, except for the tray I'd left by the pantry. Enough time had transpired that I'd thought about finally throwing it out. Good thing I didn't.

The mouse saw me looking, and made a dash for the fridge. In so doing, he leaped up, grabbed the spokes on the bicycle's rear wheel, and flipped himself from one spoke to the next along the length of the bike until he'd made it all the way across, depositing him at the corner behind the fridge. It was an amazing acrobatic display. If I were writing RATATOUILLE II: REMY'S REVENGE, I'd put this in.

The acrobatics gave me a really good look at him... This mouse is fucking BIG. No wonder I'd thought he was a rat, at first. I realize that's like talking about jumbo shrimp, but you get my drift... When I was working at Noah's Ark, the mice were pretty small, and all white. This guy is the size of a baseball and dark brown, with a white underbelly. I'm also pretty sure it's the same mouse I saw staring at me a couple of weeks ago. Could they all be the same size, the same exact coloration? Maybe, I guess...

He vanished behind the fridge. The show was over. EXTRADITION ain't gonna write itself, so I went back to work.

Not two minutes later, the mouse made another run, this time using the window sill to get from the fridge to the pantry. But, instead of disappearing into his mouse hole, he goes about halfway in and stops, leaving his ass hanging. His tail stuck out in plain view.

This is a brave mouse.

A sudden inspiration came to me. There was a big, brown-paper Trader Joe's shopping bag next to the trash can. I thought... What if I could GRAB the mouse by the tail and drop him into the bag? Sure, he could chew his way out, but not before I'd be able to run him down the block to the Hollywood Forever cemetery and drop him off.

Long/short... I snuck over. Reached down... and just as I got one finger on his tail, in the millisecond it would have taken me to get my thumb and finger together into a mouse-tail-catching vice grip, he SQUEAKED and slithered away.

The mouse escaped.

I picked up the D-Con tray. There wasn't much left. I never thought I would have to get a second helping of poison for my rodent friend(s), but such is life.

Now I'm right back in THE SECRET OF FUCKING NIMH.