Mice

Greetings from Jones Landing on the shores of Batchawana Bay, a former hideout of John Dillinger. We have no evidence that Dillinger actually stayed in our cabin while on the lam, but the cabin was here during that time.

After ten-plus years of tranquility, we had a mouse issue arise last year. Mice in a cabin are difficult to eliminate because their point of entry can be an imperceptible hole. Once said hole is plugged and mice on the inside are “eliminated,” no problem. We think the current problem is resolved because we haven’t trapped anything all week.

In the old days, the mice were a source of amusement. When one appeared in the evening, there were a lot of screams (the girls were much younger then. Adults chased the poor creature until it finally got away. Mice – 1; Humans – 0.

Speaking of screams, at age 3, Nikki saw one run across a beam and said, “Mouse.” At age 12, she saw one run across the floor and said, “MOUSSSSEEE!” She nearly scared it to death. Its fur went from gray to white in an instant.

Then there was the year we pitched quarters into a pot and everyone wrote down their guess as to the time of the first mouse’s appearance that night. Winner take all. Kids seemed to be better at that than adults.

And who could forget the time Melanie thought a mouse (or mice) was/were out to get her? We kept a cookie tin full of matches on a shelf above her bed. One night she was sure it (they) was (were) trying to push the tin on her head.

Now that we’ve plugged all the mouse holes, we have to find other ways to amuse ourselves in the evenings. We sit around and tell stories that start with, “Do you rememer the time a mouse…”

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