There is something inherently gross about opening up a drawer and finding it covered in mouse offing. Many, many, many little offings, indeed.
"No, sweet children, those are not chocolate sprinkles."
Yesterday I opened the cupboard to (innocently) grab a packet of oatmeal, only to find that several furry little friends had not only visited that very packet before me, but had the audacity (and rudeness) to poo all over the box. And the cupboard. This made me annoyed. Truly. I was really in the mood for oatmeal.
Minor annoyance turned to anger when I found that the same little party had invaded my various packs of grain AND my bag of Chia. I was especially mad about the Chia because those of you who've tried it know it gives you a nice zap of energy. Having mice was one thing; completely energized-ready-for-the-long-haul-pepped-up-on-Chia Mice was quite another, thank you very much.
"No children, I did not gnaw a hole in all the bags, or dump all the barley out. But thanks for asking."
So began my impossibly dreary and irritating day of painstakingly pulling apart my kitchen, piece by piece; inspecting for evidence of Mouse Invasion; and then, if no evidence of visitors was found, warding them off with lots and lots of dryer sheets. I am told mice do not like the smell of dryer sheets. Let me tell you that after filling every available nook and cranny of my kitchen with them, I don't like them either.
I had accomplished what I thought was a feat of amazement in hauling out every piece of stored food, cleaning every shelf, and reorganizing my entire pantry in my dining room, when I pulled open a drawer to get out the masking tape. Ahh yes, the sprinkles. The little boogers had invaded not only my kitchen junk drawer, but also my flatware and utensil drawers as well. This means war, mice. War.
And did I mention that they pooped on my Le Creuset pans?? No one poops on my Le Creuset pans. No one. It's on, Mice. Bring it.
By late evening, my entire kitchen had been completely emptied, cleaned, inspected, and reassembled (in a transient fashion) in the dining room. Every little crack, no matter how inconsequential it might seem, was stuffed with steel wool, jammed in with a knife. 8 mouse traps were then baited, set, and positioned.
"No children, those are not toys. Not at all."
This morning not one, not two, but 3 little villains awaiting disposal. Part of me felt bad, I do like mice, after all. The other part of me (the one who did the 12 hour kitchen clean up and relocation stint) was not so sad at all.
3 down. How many more to go? Until the traps stay empty for a looonnnnggg time, we'll be enjoying a homey kitchen atmosphere in our dining room, and packing up whatever is needed to make every meal; making the 15 step journey into the kitchen.
I will not rest until this battle is won. (By us, not the mice). I will have my kitchen back again. I will. (I hope.)