Now that the kids are away at school, I have the opportunity to be the first one to enter the kitchen in the morning.  My wife frequently beats me there and has the coffee on even before I rise, but last week I was first. Granted, this is neither a remarkable thing nor a great accomplishment, but it was a matter of fortuitous timing. I rounded the corner of the refrigerator and was greeted by the sight of a mouse sliding across the floor. It was in the process of making all due haste toward the security of the laundry room but its tiny feet were not gripping the smooth surface. Apparently I came upon it so suddenly that it popped a wheelie and slid sideways before gaining traction and making good on its escape.

  My mumbled verbal reaction was a simple “now that’s odd.” I don’t usually jump at the sight of scurrying things unless they are of the spider persuasion – and that’s an uncontrollable thing on my part. Mice don’t bother me at all.  The odd part about this encounter was that the uninvited guest was a mouse to begin with.  Over the past 20 years the only regular irregular mammalian invaders in this house have been short-tailed shrews.  These micro predators feed on insects and spiders, so their presence is welcome in my view. When one is in the house, I may neglect to mention the fact to my wife in lieu of other more important things.  Somehow, however, the tiny life form manages to reveal itself to her. Because she is not appreciative of their presence, I am pressured into setting the “jaws of death” and ending its career.

  By the long tail and white belly, I knew the skidding mouse to be either a Deer Mouse or a White-footed Mouse.  House mice, those immigrants from Europe, are glossy gray all over and do not have a white belly or feet.  Stuart Little was a House Mouse as were those albino mice running the universe in “A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe.” Unlike the House variety, both the Deer and White-footed Mice are outdoor creatures that do not make a regular habit of living inside our dwellings. I expected the creature to re-enter the wild, so I made no mention of the mouse whatsoever. 

  I gave it a few days to depart.  In the meantime I maintained my wife in a state of ignorance, but felt like I was cheating on her somehow. On the third day, I rose again (seems like I’ve heard that phrase before…gee, I hope I don’t get hit with a plagiarism suit). After two mornings of expecting to hear a scream from the kitchen, I decided to quietly set the “jaws of death” just to make sure things were back to normal.  I guess I still harbored some resentment stemming from a long ago incident in which a gang of mice made a nest out of my set of prize Webelos scout ribbons.  They chewed them into oblivion and made a fuzzy retreat out of my childhood.

  On the next morning, I heard a loud squeak from the kitchen.  It was my wife.  “There’s a mouse in a trap right inside the laundry room door,” she half screamed, “please get it out.” I performed the solemn task incompletely. I actually placed the stiff little bug-eyed corpse out in the unheated back porch until I could look at it better, but claimed that it was “taken care of.”  It’s shameful how such a thing can lead to a life of deceit.

  I should mention that my dependable “jaw of death” is a steel toothed McGill trap.  I’ve had it for years and have never had to resort to a regular snap trap.  It’s a self setting thing that clicks into position when the back springs are squeezed.  A little peanut butter on the trigger and you’ve got the makings for a quick trip to shrew, or in this case mouse, heaven. Building a better mousetrap has always been an obsession for inventors since the first human (probably a female) spotted the first proto-mouse running out from under the mammoth hide.  Aside from neck snapping wires & jaws, many of these creations employed drowning tanks, magical flip doors, and dead falls. Electrocution and even loaded mini-pistols have been employed in this deadly task. I can’t resist showing you this old standby: an old wooden Victor four hole trap that was popular in the early half of the last century (see it here). 

  The trusty old McGill trap effectively provided an answer to my mouse identity question.  My dear little departed was indeed a White-footed Mouse. I took a short time to sketch the beast and posed it in a typical life posture of cleaning itself (see it here).  You’ll notice that these mice are attractively pelted with a bright white belly and cinnamon brown sides. The feet are covered with fine white fur, but appear pink upon close examination. One of the big differences between this and the look-alike Deer Mouse is that Deer Mice have a very clear border line dividing the dark upper side and the white under portion of the tail, while the White-foot has a hazy dividing line.  O.K. that’s not much of a difference, but unless you have the time and desire to measure the feet and the third upper molar, that will have to do.

  In nature White-foots are semi-arboreal. This means that they can and will climb trees.  Their long tails come in handy as balancing tools when traversing thin branches.  As a matter of fact, they often roof over old bird nests in order to convert them into winter homes.  Perhaps the most surprising thing of all is their musical talent.  Both Deer and White-foots will squeak with ultrasonic delight, but they also are known to drum their tiny paws upon dry grass stems or leaves to create a melodic buzzing sound.  

  Why they do this drumming is somewhat of a mystery, but I prefer to think of it as part of an eternal death chant. Although there are extreme records of captive mice putting three candles on their birthday cakes, the average life span in the wild is less than a year.   Only 5% of the mice born in a particular year – and there are a lot of them – survive into the following year. 

  Mice are born to be eaten or killed by nearly every other life form on earth.  As one of those life forms it was my job to perform my ecological and spousal responsibility. I ate the mouse with full knowledge that the circle of life had been completed. O.K., I didn’t eat the mouse, I was just trying to end this thing on a philosophical note.  I promise not to lie about mice or shrews again…at least in the near future.