Ladies and Gentlemen, I have officially joined the “Mouse in the House” Club. Apparently I joined two nights ago, but didn’t figure it out until the wee hours of this morning. Yes, yesterday I should have suspected something when I saw that my bread had been nibbled on, but this is Ethiopia…I thought it entirely plausible that I bought nibbled-on bread and just hadn’t noticed.
But when I heard the rustle of my garbage bag and the clinking of wine bottles at 3 am, I realized the truth…there was something in my kitchen. My investigation turned up a little mouse (thank God it wasn’t a rat!). After a couple rounds of hide-and-seek I trapped her under a pot.
At this point I called my boyfriend because I was more afraid of leaving my compound in the dark than I had been about catching the mouse in the first place. You see, the humanitarian in me wanted to set the mouse free. I didn’t want to keep her as a pet, mind you; I just couldn’t bring myself to kill her.
So off I went to set her free. Which was stupid – because she’s crafty. Very, very crafty indeed. I then went to the bathroom, and when I returned, I once again had a mouse in my house. This time I chased her out my door with a broom. It happened so fast I couldn’t get a good look, so I wasn’t certain if it was the same mouse or not…
Not five minutes later, I watched her push aside my window screen where the duct tape had gotten loose and come back for a third time! I’m gonna be honest, I was pretty livid by this point. I was no longer concerned for her well being. I was also getting louder. It was soon a compound-wide event. She ran behind my kitchen counter and has yet to be seen again…however, we’re pretty sure she found her way out the open door. Either that or she eluded my landlord, his wife, their daughter, and me as we scoured my house.
Good news, I am now certain I don’t have a hole in my house that she entered through. Bad news, I’m going to be too paranoid to have my bedroom window open for a while. And I’m going to have to keep moving the multiple books I placed in the bottom crack of my door every time I want to exit and enter my room. I should probably get a wooden board somewhere.
In addition, my landlord’s going to buy traps and poison. Initially, I wanted the mouse to live, but if she can’t learn from her mistakes, I have no choice.
So there you have it – the story of my crafty mouse that has since been named Martha. Damn you, Martha.