Of Mice and Me
I spent a couple of hours trailing an exterminator around the house yesterday. We definitely have a rodent incursion, and it was pretty fascinating to see where they’ve been, how they got in, what spots they like the best.
To be honest, I’m not really bothered by sharing my home with other creatures. Up to a point. A little scritching in the walls and ceilings can be a hair creepy, but they’re so small! And furry! And we’re so busy taking up alllll the space there’s hardly room for non-humans to build a home anymore. And when they do find a place they like? One of us is likely to bring in a bulldozer.
Sorry, animals.
Humans and rodents have been living cheek by jowl for around 15,000 years now, ever since we became useful sources of food, water and shelter. Next to humans, mice and rats are the most adaptable animals. Too bad we don’t really like them.
I’m continually fascinated by the human desire for pets. I’ve hosted everything from goats to lizards, fish, walking stick bugs, tiny aquatic frogs, chickens - in addition to the more pedestrian dogs and cats. Why do we love animals that either live in cages or love us back, but hate animals that we haven’t specifically invited in?
We’re not doing our animal friends (or foes) a lot of favors these days, what with destroying the environment and causing mass extinction, so any goodwill shown by us to them seems like a step in the right direction.
So yes, a little come-in-from-the-cold feels like a neighborly affirmation, and maybe the rodents and I can all live in peace together? Sadly, there are three house rules they refuse to follow, and that makes them ineligible to remain.
To all future mice and rats that would like to live in my cozy home:
1. You are not allowed in the kitchen.
And you know why: if you were just able to wash your little hands, unwrap the food items, use a sharp knife to cut off your snack, then rewrap the food and bear your serving away leaving no trace, I’d be down. There’s plenty for all!
But this is NOT how rodents act in the house. I know I can’t blame them, but I also can’t find it in my heart to be okay with their dining habits. And talk about wasteful! They’ll nibble a hole in a bag of whatever, take a few bites, and then I’ve got to toss the whole damn thing. Not okay.
2. You must go outside to die.
The call to the exterminator was prompted by a vile smell emanating from an impossible to reach place in the ceiling of the back hallway. I managed to get creative with blocking the scent pathway, but still. Gross.
I realize that this particular creature may not have wanted to die in my converted breezeway, but die it did, and we just can’t have that.
3. Use the actual toilet, or go outdoors.
I won’t give you all the hairy details, but let’s just say there will be a lot of insulation removal as part of this remediation effort. Also, who poops while they’re walking through the house? I mean, yuck.
I feel sorry for the little creatures. There they are, just looking for a place to call home, much as I’ve done throughout my life.
On the other hand, they contribute absolutely nothing. Not that that makes them less deserving of a comfy space to sleep, but they have unwittingly stumbled upon capitalism, and now they’re caught up in it as much as the rest of us, like it or not. No one gets to live for free.
On the side of the rodents is the fact that I can’t really keep them from coming in if they want to. They can dig, they can squeeze through teeny tiny openings; there is just no way to ensure they’ll never come back.
So, on our imaginary rodents vs. Julia scoreboard we have one point for the creatures who have made a home within my home, and maybe a half a point for me: I’m going to get rid of their doors and highways and unpleasant leavings, but it’s going to cost me a pretty penny and there’s no guarantee they won’t be back. I guess I’ll take it as a win.