This is war. Nuclear war.
The latest attack came this week when a vole (I think) ran across my living room floor and went under the television. While I was watching. To add insult to injury, the little furry thing left a few … droppings … when I screamed at it.
I say vole because he has no tail like a mouse or (shudder) rat. It is a little gray furry thing like ones I have dismantled with the lawn mower on occasion.
I have a two-story barn. According to farmer-photographer-baker John Yanowicz, every barn has mice. Several months ago in Cobb Manor’s version of Pearl Harbor, the Cobb Manor mice invaded the kitchen cabinets, specifically the “silverware” drawer. They left their foul byproducts on every knife, fork and spoon in the house. I still gag when I think about it.
(I call it the “silverware” drawer even though there is not a single drop of silver in the whole supermarket collection.)
That caused the first skirmish in the war when I bought D-Con rodent poison and left a cube under the sink.
They took it away.
I left a second tablet.
They took that away, too.
Normally when I use D-Con, I find dead soldiers on the cellar floor. This time I found none. I have been told that D-Con has made their product more politically correct after killing a few dogs and cats.
There were no further attacks, so we called a truce, although the “silverware” drawer remains empty with the knives and forks propped up vertically in various glasses and coffee cups on the counters. I cannot bring myself to put them back.
Then the Vole Attack of ’16.
This cannot stand.
With the cold weather fast approaching, I needed weapons. Nuclear weapons. On the next trip to The Home Depot I grabbed traditional mouse traps, some snap-trap devices and plug-in devices that allegedly drive rodents from the domicile. Just to make sure, I got some glue traps. This was it.
Well, I stupidly bought these horrific devices in front of Blue Eyes. When she saw my death-dealing collection, her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. You have to know that she sends donations to the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, Save the Damned Chickens and any other organization which sends her a free calendar.
She once made me adopt an aging dog when Florida Mark threatened to put it to sleep.
Alright, I should have known better than to buy my weapons in her presence.
We had a rare public argument in The Home Depot aisles and my dominant theme was Mind Your Own Business. “When those mice crap on your forks, you can make the decisions.” I was going nuclear.
“Those mice will be alive on those glue strips. What are you going to do then?” she asked. I visualized using my heaviest winter boot.
We drove to Cobb Manor in argument-inspired silence. I refused to give in. I dropped the arsenal in the barn and prepared dinner. There was remarkably little conversation during the dinner, as I recall. When she departed for her own residence, I went to retrieve the nuclear weapons.
Gone.
The (expletive deleted) stole my glue weapons without saying a word. When I called her, laughing, she denied any knowledge of the theft. I’m sorry all I could do was laugh. I NEVER should have bought them in front of her.
I placed the other traps around the kitchen and the barn. I am waiting for results. If a single rodent appears in Cobb Manor, I am returning to the weapons store.
Without Blue Eyes.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the Bangor Daily News in Rockland for 30 years.