“A mouse who wishes to fool the cat doesn’t simply scamper out of its hole whenever it feels the slightest urge.” — Arthur Golden
Ugh….mice. Or, as I like to call them, dirty rats. I understand that, zoologically, mice are different from rats. Mice are also different from voles, shrews, and a whole bunch of other rodents. However, in my mind, they are all dirty rats. People tell me, “Oh, it’s just a wee mouse; it’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”
Wanna bet?
Recently, I was at an event with lots of other people. As I was chatting and snacking, my eye was drawn to a corner of the space, and there he was—Mickey, the rat. Okay, since I don’t want to push fake news, it was likely a mouse, but whatever. To me, it was a big, scary, cheese-chomping rat. Did I scream? Of course, I did. So what if it was a room full of people at an event where screaming was frowned upon? Mickey the rat shows up, and I will scream, count on it.
I’ve never been a fan of nature; by nature, I mean camping, hiking, and creatures that are not supposed to live indoors. No one else was freaking out about the mouse, but hey, I like to stand out in a crowd. I did refrain from leaping up on a table and am pretty proud of that. It’s not like rodents are harmless; they can carry and spread diseases, and their little droppings can contaminate food. The same can be said for cats and dogs if they aren’t cared for, but they’re way cuter than vermin.
To be fair, I’m not singling out mice; there are plenty of other furry beasts I’m not a fan of, no matter how many Disney movies they’ve made. If it’s not supposed to live indoors, it better stay out of my house and my life. Squirrels, possums, raccoons, and the rest of the backyard bunch need to keep away from me, and I will keep away from them.
My house doesn’t have a home office, so when I work, I sit at my dining room table and look out my big bay window. The squirrels scamper back and forth, the bunnies usually show up around sunset in the summer, and once, there was even a groundhog out there. All of that is fine; I enjoy it as long as they know their place. I have a bird feeder out there, and it’s fun to watch them fly around, but again, not in my house. I’m the child of a superstitious Irish mum—a bird in the house was an omen of death, so the first time a wayward chickadee found its way into my home, I had to wave my son’s hockey stick around to get it to fly back outside. Then, I had to sprinkle the whole house with holy water, just in case.
If Marblehead were some rural town with rolling hills and farmland, we’d expect a few forest friends, but it’s suburbia. We don’t just have a few mice and squirrels, there’s more. How are there gangs of roaming turkeys co-existing with dens of coyotes? Are these turkeys somehow smarter than the average bird? Have they developed anti-coyote radar? How can there be so many turkeys in a town with so many coyotes? Are the coyotes here vegetarians?
The other night, I woke up to the sound of loud howling. I figured it was a coyote, and when I peeked out my door, this floofy canine was up on my patio as if he was about to ring the doorbell and ask for a snack. I know it’s mating season, but go away, Wile E. it’s late, and this is not the Coyote Lonely Hearts Club. He’s been back once, but that’s probably because I failed to seal up the trash bags, and there was a chicken carcass in there.
I know it sounds grumpy, and except for those murderous thoughts in my head when Mickey the rat was zipping around near my shoes, I’m not a violent person. I couldn’t kill a mouse; I’d be too busy screaming and having a stroke. However, when one showed up in my kitchen, you can bet I hired an assassin—I mean exterminator. To the rats and other creepy creatures, unless you want to be deaf from the screams of an Irish banshee, please stay on your side of the planet, which is outdoors, okay?
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.