I set out something like 17-19 new traps today, and—much more importantly—found around five entry points. Steel wool, stuffed in with a screwdriver. More steel wool. A little spackle on top.
And, yes: there was one hold right where the fireplace hearth meets the carpeting. The spackle that covered that opening did, in fact, get smeared a little bit onto the carpeting. Better white with spackle than black with mouse shit, I always say.
And if I hear one word about that instance of sloppy spackleing, I really will commit matricide; I’ve been denying myself for years.
It was hurtful enough that she had no appreciation whatsoever for my villain laugh—and I’ve worked hard on that. I feel that when one is attempting to commit murder on a mass scale, it’s important to have a good villain laugh, and I didn’t crib mine from Saturday morning cartoons. I developed it myself, painstakingly, from my underground lair (from which I am attempting World Domination—in competition, appropriately enough, with Pinky and The Brain; tensions with them lately are deeper than usual, as one might imagine).
The fireplace now has four traps in it, and there is one nearby.
Attila the Hub: “Don’t hesitate to leave them in place for a while; sometimes it takes them some time to get used to a given trap before they go for the bait. And then, well: it’s over. Re-bait that one and place it in exactly the same position, or replace it with one right on the same trail. They are programmed to follow their trails.”
Me: “I know exactly where those trails are. Or where they were, before my brother vacuumed up the droppings. I have ’em memorized.”
Just because my mother doesn’t appreciate a bitchin’ villain laugh when she hears it doesn’t mean victory is not at hand.
Also, I’ve been forbidden to post any pictures of her whatsoever, anywhere on the web.
“They don’t have your name on ’em, Silly,” I responded.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve heard of bad things happening to people whose pictures are on the internet.”
Is there anyone left, anywhere on the planet, who doesn’t have his or her picture posted on the internet somewhere? I doubt it.
But had I known it would annoy her, I would have done it much, much more. Much more.
[villain laugh]
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You could, however, post pictures of the deceased mice. Preferably mounted on tiny little boards like trophies.
I have considered micro-taxidermy, but my brother has his heart on making me that mouse-pelt jacket. And the notion of putting their bitty little heads on boards for my wall (or, er, my bulletin board) only occurred to me after I’d cut off their ears for that necklace . . . .