I have a mouse in the house. I have named him Fivel. I first saw Fivel a few days ago, scurrying across my kitchen floor and under my dishwasher. He is small but mighty and I can only blame myself for his arrival. It seems that I didn't take the trash out before I left for the holiday week-end, and something, (I would guess the leftover pudding containers) attracted him.
I figured Fivel just wandered in and wouldn't return once I took out the trash and cleaned up the counters. But oh, no. Fival is a curious fellow who seems to also like white bread, or at least that's what I assume based on the holes in my bag of sandwich bread. He also likes to chew on cardboard, from what I can hear late at night. Sometimes he even squeaks. Eek!
I am giving Fivel fair warning to leave. Here's your hat, what's your hurry? If I come home tonight and he is still there, rustling around in a bag or under a pile of clothes, I will have to choice but to bring out the glue traps. I'm a humane creature in the truest sense but being that Fivel is not paying any rent, like an unwelcome boyfriend, he must go.
I never had these sorts of problems when Pookie the Fearless, my beloved cat, was around. Pookie has been summering in Connecticut with my mom since the beginning of August because it was getting really hot in my apartment. I refused to leave the air conditioning on just for him, so off he went to rummage around a big house with lots of rooms and carpeting to sharpen his nails. I hear he is particurally found of chasing up and down the staircase, which surprised me considering how lethargic he was in New York. Maybe he feels the need to show off.
Nevertheless, Pooks needs to come back, back to anti-mouse patrol. I know he's not much of a mouser, but his 15 pound presence should keep Fivel in line.
