I lived in a three-bedroom trailer for two years during college. The trailer court was on the southern edge of town across the street from vast hay fields and ranch land that stretched to the Spanish Peaks. Since critters seek shelter during winter, the crawl space beneath our trailer was ideal for small ones. The mice accessed it easily through the gaps in the skirting and eventually discovered our kitchen cabinets. We noticed signs and heard suspicious noises for a couple of days. We finally set a loaded trap under the sink, and it was triggered within a minute. After catching three mice in an hour, we investigated further and noticed a big gap around the sink drainpipe. We sealed it with modeling clay and the mice disappeared.
Years later, in a different town, the design studios were housed in a building bult in 1775. Each of us shared a vertical divider between two facing desks with a fellow student. The grad on the opposite side of me was working on her thesis about color and semiotics. Sometime during the winter semester, she asked if we could talk. “Sure, what’s up?” I said. “I see you leave food on your desk.” I responded sheepishly with “Yeh, is there a problem?” “I noticed some mouse droppings on my desk and a hole’s been chewed in the soft pin-up board between us. I think your snacks are the reason.” She pointed to the corner of the vertical divider where there was a small hole with a gentle arch like in a cartoon. I hadn’t seen droppings on my side, or the hole in the divider, because I had stuff stacked up in front of it. I apologized and told her I’d be tidier. She thanked me and walked back to her beautiful hand painted studies. The indexical signs of mice disappeared.
Thirty winters later my studio became a gathering place for an unknown number of mice. I’d never seen mice or any signs of them in my space, or anywhere in the building before. I’d begun storing wheat in a couple of lidless five-gallon buckets. I was incorporating the chaff into some work and used the bundles for visual reference. Because I worked there primarily at night, I didn't notice what was happening in that dark corner where things were stacked. Once I investigated and saw the infestation of mice droppings and scattered wheat, it led to a massive multi day cleaning session. The mice and any further signs of them disappeared.
A few winters ago, I began to hear noises in our semi-finished basement, mostly in corners and sometimes overhead. We had mice. At its peak, the mostly nocturnal noises felt a little like a scene from the horror movie Williard, or from Never Cry Wolf, where the biologist’s wilderness shelter was full of them. I trapped a mouse every couple of days for three weeks. I only saw a live mouse once as it headed to a dark corner where the first-floor joists meet the top of the foundation wall. Eventually I discovered a crack between some foundation blocks outside and patched it with cement. The mice disappeared.
Decades earlier, our daughter owned two pet mice during grade school. She had a cage, a wheel, a water bottle, with wood chips and shredded paper filling the base. Both mice, Minun and Plussel, were healthy for a few months before one randomly died and the other began to develop a skin condition. She asked if we could take it to the vet. We agreed, so my wife and daughter went, and the doctor examined it with tiny instruments and prescribed antibiotics. The bill was one hundred dollars. My wife wasn’t pleased. She kept her displeasure to herself though because our daughter was relieved and optimistic. We could have bought one hundred mice instead. Sadly, five days later it died too. They are both buried in our backyard and a rock marks the spot.
Songs :: After Midnight by J. J. Cale, Up To My Neck In You by AC/DC, and Darkness by The Police
© C. Davidson