The Mouse Situation, Day 3

Conditions with the mice are deteriorating. Our relationship started off badly, admittedly: they gained the upper hand when they proved they had a sense of irony, what with three of them all peering out at me from behind the block full of carving knives. And it sort of went on from there.

I think it's important to establish that I do not have a filthy kitchen. I have a nice kitchen, including many nice things I bought while still gainfully employed, like Le Creuset enameled cookware and decorative utensil holders. It's an old-ish kitchen, definitely hasn't been updated in about 15 years and was probably redone on the cheap then, leading to gaps between oven and countertop and odd gaps at the baseboard, but hey. Whatever. It's a kitchen, it's got a window, and it's also the first time I've had access to a dishwasher in about 10 years, so I've been making good use of it. So I hope we're clear on that: I am not a bad kitchen-keeper.

What I am apparently bad at is remembering that a bag of oatmeal should not be left on the counter, for it is delicious to things with teeth and tails. Hence, Le Problem de Mouse.

I thought that maybe clearing away everything on the countertop would lead to the mice giving up and crawling back into the stove from whence they came (yep, it's gross, but they're crawling up through the gas burners on the range top). I was wrong! It just made them more adventurous. And not only adventurous, but TALKATIVE, which is worse. Something along these lines:

Mouse 1: "Okay, there's nothing in her bedroom closet except books and a really dusty exercise ball... Anything over there, Phyllis?"
Mouse 2: "Nah, nothing under the bed, but I think she's up there trying to sleep, so how about I keep up a running commentary as I skitter around in my little rodent tapshoes?"
Mouse 3 (rustling offstage, in kitchen): "Hey, I found tinfoil!"

Not a night I'd like to repeat, thank you very much.

The trouble is, the mice and I are now developing a slightly worrisome shorthand. I walk into the kitchen and clap twice, they skitter back into the burners (never more than three at a time, so... oh, god, there's no way I can say this that doesn't sound revolting, is there?). I lift up the cover of the range and shout "GO AWAY YOU FILTHY BUGGERS!" and they just stare at me, as though slightly scandalised. And one of them tried to come out of the kitchen this afternoon, and when I saw it I yelled "Hey!" and it stopped and then I went "Annnh-annnh-ANNNH!" in dog-scolding language and the mouse hightailed it back to the stove.

So on one hand, I seem to be training the mice. On the other, I don't think that I'll be able to train them to go away. Or that any of this will be seen as a useable job skill.

I'll let you know how Phase II: Trapping! goes.