Mice capades

Laura K. Silver is a trustee of the Jewish Light who writes a blog for the paper’s website (stljewishlight.com/laura).  She owns The Paper Trail of St. Louis, a financial and legal concierge service. Laura is married and the mother of two middle school age children.

By Laura K. Silver

Back in college my freshman year, I had a problem.  No, I didn’t gain the freshman fifteen and I didn’t flunk my classes. My problem was much worse.  Mice.

Living in a suite with three women and a kitchenette was not the boon I envisioned.  It was a recipe for mice.  I vividly remember one of my roommates, a beautiful Asian woman named Michelle, leaping from the ground to the top of her desk in one motion.  (The jump still stays in my mind as one of the most fantastic I have ever seen, but that’s another story.)

My roommate Missy took this as her cue to leave. Permanently.   She moved out, leaving Michelle, Jennifer and me to handle the problem alone.  Jennifer promptly enlisted the help of our male next door neighbors.

The guys next door set our traps.  Within about thirty seconds, we heard “thwap” and looked at each other.  “Mickey?” I asked, jokingly.  We called the boys next door to come check it out for us.  There was no way we were looking ourselves.

Sure enough, they confirmed it was indeed Mickey.  Within another minute, the guys were back to dispose of Minnie.   Within the next day or so, we heard two more thwaps as Mighty and Jerry met their demise.  When I ran out of cartoon names, I decided we were done.  We called housing services and explained our infestation.  Our suite was declared a campus emergency site and the school took care of the problem for us.  Six guys in hazmat suits showed up at our suite to handle things once and for all.  Mice Capades, as we took to calling them, were over. 


Until now.

Earlier this week, I found something suspicious in my house.  My pest control people were on their way, but I enlisted my handyman to look at it before they got there.  I was hoping they weren’t termites.

“Those aren’t insects,” he told me.  “You have a mouse from the construction you have going on outside.  Don’t worry,” he assured me, “We’ll take care of it.”

I calmly explained that I couldn’t have a mouse.  “You see,” I told him simply, “I’ve already caught Mickey, Minnie, Mighty and Jerry.  I can’t possibly have any others.  I don’t have any more names.”

He looked at me with a wry smile.

“Ever heard of Mortimer?” he asked.