Mice Brothers

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As the crisp Winter air turns to Spring, the call of the Songbird is joined by my yelling of, “Don’t leave food out! That’s how we get ants!”

Ooooo I hate ants. I write that while shaking my fist in the air. The ground underneath Evanston is 99 percent ant and every home we’ve had was overrun come Springtime. Over the last decade, I’ve developed a strict regimen for ant apocalypse. First, I deliver ant sized fliers warning ant villagers to leave my house immediately or feel my wrath. Then I spray enough ant killer around the outside of our house to kill every living thing within a half mile. I like to do this without any protection to prove what a big man I am. I spend the next several months screaming every time I see a live ant. “How? How can you be alive? Our house is a toxic waste dump!”

A month ago, I received a text from Diana that read, “Our cleaning lady found mice poop under the oven.” Diana was smart to send this message via text because I hit the roof of my office with rage.

“See what happens when you leave cereal out?” I shouted at a junior copywriter.

Instead of murder, which was my suggestion, Diana purchased a few humane mice traps. These things are basically a little tube with a little door that springs closed when the mice enters, attracted by the smell of peanut butter.

Our neighbor Lexa told us a while ago she used the same kind and left for a long weekend. She came home to discover three mice had gotten stuck in one trap and were reduced to cannibalism to survive. Gross.

The first night we left the trap out, we caught a tiny little mouse. Which left the question, what to do with the mouse? I couldn’t feed it to the dogs, because they wouldn’t eat it. I also didn’t want to just pitch it out into the neighborhood. I like most of my neighbors. Plus, you already know what Lexa does to mice.

So I drove the little guy out to a park in Chicago. There is a little Par 3 course attached, so he can still be tied to his North Shore roots. Plus tons of garbage. I opened the trap and attempted to free him. But, he refused to leave. I had to shake him out like the last Pringle in the can. Eventually he let go and scurried off. I called to him, “I love you! Don’t come back or I’ll break your neck!”

The next morning, we caught another one. I planned on just tossing into the yard of our neighbor who is a real jerk about recycling cans. But Diana was concerned about this new mouse being separated from his mouse brother. I reminded her this mouse had the brain the size of a garbanzo bean and was most likely riddled with rabies.

But then I began to anthropomorphize them. I imagined a little Eli mouse, scared and alone on the 9^th green. His only desire was to be reunited with his little Luca mouse brother.

So I drove back out to the golf course and dropped off Luca Mouse. I shouted, “Hey Eli Mouse! Here is your brother. Come and get him!”

Luca Mouse darted off to find his brother. And I’m sure didn’t get eaten by a hawk.