My family has an ugly history with mouse infestation. I largely attribute my first descent into postpartum depression (back in 2006) to the pregnant mice of West Philadelphia who set up their labor and delivery unit in our one-bedroom apartment right around the time I brought home my second newborn. But, praise God, the memories have faded. We have been living mouse-free since 2009.
Until today. When I found mouse scat sprinkled in and around my baby’s highchair (a midnight snack of leftover Cheerios, no doubt) and in the kitchen.
Clearly our newest rodent addition hasn’t heard the tale of how our last mouse was executed under the moonlight back in ’09.
The floors are immaculate. The glue traps are down and baited. Stage I is underway, and it only gets more grisly from here. I’m cautiously optimistic.
The only difference this time around is my son is requesting to keep the mouse as a pet once we catch it. What do you think?