Mr. Mousekawitz

Dear Mr. Mousekawitz,

I'm a reasonable woman.  I don't run screaming onto chairs and tables when I see you running across the floor.  I don't attack my curtains with a broom when I know you're hiding behind them.  Instead I give you a name and anticipate your next visit.  Mr. Mousekawitz.  Charming, eh?  Sometimes I know your routine so perfectly that I turn to wait your arrival during the 10 o'clock news and then giggle as you scurry under the table and behind the drapes plotting your attack on the kitchen.  I've been more than fair and understanding.  After all, I do live in the country.  That equals uninvited company such as yourself, and most days, I'm oddly okay with it.

Many late nights have been spent laying in my bed staring at the ceiling.  Why?  Cuz I can't sleep?  No.  Because you and your posse have waken me from my sleep with the pitter patter of little feet above my head.  How much do you weigh anyway?  For being such a small rodent your movements are nothing short of deafening and terrifying at 2 AM.  For hours I lay there tracking your movements back and forth, up and down, here and there, waiting for the day that a ceiling tile falls and we find each other face to face on my pillow.  It's not a happy premonition.  In fact, it's one that often requires a Tylenol PM to calm me enough to doze off til morning.  By then I've usually forgotten our mid-night escapade until I open the linen drawer for a fresh towel and tiny mouse terdlets fly across the room.  And that, my friend, is where I draw the line.

I've set traps over and over around the house for months now.  I check them regularly to see if you have met your fate.  But no.  The traps are empty.  Empty!  You have either been impressively trained or have invented the precise art of cleaning a loaded mouse trap without getting caught.  You are a veteran thief with skills I can not comprehend.  Do you wear black leather gloves while looting my traps and cupboards?  (clap, clap, clap)  I've gotta give you props, Mr. Mousekawitz.  You have been a fine opponent and have successfully outsmarted me. 

I was hesitant to set mousetraps.  I thought it was mean.  And when I finally resorted to breaking your little neck, the kindness in my heart inspired me to still show some compassion.  Peanut butter and chocolate!  Delicious!  So I chose to bait the traps with peanut butter and chocolate.  The exterminator suggested it and I found it a very humane and kindly gesture on my part.  If I'm going to kill you I might as well provide a proper last meal.  There are plenty of humans who would risk their life for much less than peanut butter and chocolate, so once again, I've been nothing short of merciful.  Until now.

No more peanut butter.  No more chocolate.  No cheese.  No Cocoa Puffs.  No more powdered sugar and brown sugar.  We're through.  Welcome to the world of De Con and possibly cats.  My kids have been begging for a cat for years.  Because I loathe cats, I have refrained from becoming a cat owner.  But, my dear Mr. Mousekawitz, unfortunately for you, I loathe you more.  Good luck, my nemesis.  May we both rest in peace.