Ratatouille
I first wrote this post back in May but I wanted to back track a bit and get it on here.
My husband and I are currently in the process of building a home. Building a home is one of the most nerve racking experiences I have ever gone through. However, our reasons for building the home are even more frustrating.
Recently I gave birth to a beautiful little boy. One night while I was up nursing said boy, I heard what could only be described as a squeak. It did not sound anything like an actual squeak, and I am sure I have never heard this sound before. I thought my husband may have been making the sound and I looked down to see him sleeping away and not making any noises. Then I heard it again. I did what any woman who had her arms full of baby would do; I woke up my husband. He lay there listening for a moment, then he jumped out of bed and grabbed his machete. Yes, a machete, we live in the country where my husband was born and raised. The next thing I know, he is whacking behind our armoire where a mouse had taken refuge. Unfortunately for the mouse, the other side was blocked off. In order to escape, the mouse had to go pass my husband, which he managed to do. My husband chased him into the closet, and the mouse ran back to the armoire where he met his demise from a good whack of the machete. You ever see a cat after he has caught a bird for his owners? Well that is exactly how my husband acted after killing the mouse; very proud of himself. I was very proud of him too, until the next night.
I was up nursing my son again, when I saw something black skitter across the floor. I knew what it was this time and immediately woke my husband who asked me to grab one of the old mice traps in the kitchen. I put down the baby and went in the kitchen where I saw the fattest mouse sitting on the counter. I screamed and ran back to the bedroom where my husband had trapped the other mouse in the closet. The closet door doesn’t reach the floor or the ceiling so he placed a box in front of the door. We decided that we would get some mouse traps in the morning and lay down to the sound of Stewart (that is what we named him, the kitchen mouse is Ratatouille) squeaking. A few minutes later, my husband shouted and jumped out of bed because Stewart was on the top of the closet door on the ledge in between where the door would meet the threshold if it was long enough. Once again the machete came out as he tried to beat Stewart back into the closet. We knew by this time that sleep was not an option, so we packed up the baby and headed to Wal-mart to buy the regular snap traps and sticky traps. We set up the traps and caught two mice within a week. I asked my husband if any of them were fat, I didn’t look, and he said no. Therefore I figured Ratatouille was still out there even though I did not see any more mouse droppings.
That is, until the other day when there was one pellet on the counter. It was hard trying to sleep knowing a mouse was in the house. That night I heard a noise like an animal trying to break into the house. When my husband investigated, he saw Ratatouille stuck to a sticky trap.
The mice were not our only incentive for leaving, but they played a big role.
My husband and I are currently in the process of building a home. Building a home is one of the most nerve racking experiences I have ever gone through. However, our reasons for building the home are even more frustrating.
Recently I gave birth to a beautiful little boy. One night while I was up nursing said boy, I heard what could only be described as a squeak. It did not sound anything like an actual squeak, and I am sure I have never heard this sound before. I thought my husband may have been making the sound and I looked down to see him sleeping away and not making any noises. Then I heard it again. I did what any woman who had her arms full of baby would do; I woke up my husband. He lay there listening for a moment, then he jumped out of bed and grabbed his machete. Yes, a machete, we live in the country where my husband was born and raised. The next thing I know, he is whacking behind our armoire where a mouse had taken refuge. Unfortunately for the mouse, the other side was blocked off. In order to escape, the mouse had to go pass my husband, which he managed to do. My husband chased him into the closet, and the mouse ran back to the armoire where he met his demise from a good whack of the machete. You ever see a cat after he has caught a bird for his owners? Well that is exactly how my husband acted after killing the mouse; very proud of himself. I was very proud of him too, until the next night.
I was up nursing my son again, when I saw something black skitter across the floor. I knew what it was this time and immediately woke my husband who asked me to grab one of the old mice traps in the kitchen. I put down the baby and went in the kitchen where I saw the fattest mouse sitting on the counter. I screamed and ran back to the bedroom where my husband had trapped the other mouse in the closet. The closet door doesn’t reach the floor or the ceiling so he placed a box in front of the door. We decided that we would get some mouse traps in the morning and lay down to the sound of Stewart (that is what we named him, the kitchen mouse is Ratatouille) squeaking. A few minutes later, my husband shouted and jumped out of bed because Stewart was on the top of the closet door on the ledge in between where the door would meet the threshold if it was long enough. Once again the machete came out as he tried to beat Stewart back into the closet. We knew by this time that sleep was not an option, so we packed up the baby and headed to Wal-mart to buy the regular snap traps and sticky traps. We set up the traps and caught two mice within a week. I asked my husband if any of them were fat, I didn’t look, and he said no. Therefore I figured Ratatouille was still out there even though I did not see any more mouse droppings.
That is, until the other day when there was one pellet on the counter. It was hard trying to sleep knowing a mouse was in the house. That night I heard a noise like an animal trying to break into the house. When my husband investigated, he saw Ratatouille stuck to a sticky trap.
The mice were not our only incentive for leaving, but they played a big role.
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