While reading the paper and munching down a bowl of Fruit Loops last month, I saw a quick movement on the floor that sped from behind the garbage bin to the space between the wall and the dishwasher. Oh great, there was a mouse in the house.

I really don’t blame the little buggers for trying to find a warm place to reside, but can’t they grow a little more hair for protection against the weather or hibernate in their nice little outside nests? I pretty much like all animals, but Minnie and Mickey should know by now that they are not welcome in my kitchen.

Rummaging through the junk drawer for a mouse trap, I discovered what was left of Mickey’s recent Happy Meal. A packet of Taco John’s extra-hot sauce had been chewed open by little bitty choppers and half slurped up. The little bugger should have keeled over from heartburn, saving me the trouble of setting a trap.

There are two cats in the house that should be paying their way, but oh, no, they would rather sit beside their empty food dish for days on end before wasting an ounce of energy chasing and exterminating a mouse.

Setting the good old wooden trap in the corner with a bit of cheese for bait, I fully expected to see a decapitated Mickey the next morning.

We had a tricky little devil – no mouse in the trap, and no cheese either. OK, we would get out the “Better Mouse Trap,” as it stated on the package.

Heck, I sure don’t know what New Yorker invented that gizmo because Mickey had another nice meal and thanked the host with a turd beside the trap.

Short of standing on the counter with a shotgun, the “Humane Trap” was tried out. Mickey must have been an awesome acrobat as, somehow, he held the “foolproof” door open, retrieved the cheese and went right back into hiding.

As much as I don’t like the sticky traps, this little mouse was just a hair away from the human exterminator having to go to counseling. Using fingernail polish remover to dissolve the glue off my hands, I remembered why I had given up on that particular brand of pest eliminator years before.

Okey-dokey, I sure hoped the little rat look-alike appreciated the interruption of my day when I made a special trip into town for some new and improved mouse reduction information. The guy at the hardware store was happy as all get-out while loading my shopping basket with everything from an electronic, super-duper, sure-fire mouse-away gadget to a fake owl that would scare the daylights out of Mickey so he would hightail it back to his outside stomping grounds.

The cats started puking from the electronic thingamajig, and our little houseguest took a dump at the feet of the grand old scary owl.

No war, just emotional trauma on my end as I figured it was time to start thinking like a mouse. Setting four of the good old wooden traps in a square, I figured if I were a mouse, I would grab some tasty cheese, then turn around and run for it, right over the trigger of the next trap, and be squashed to smithereens.

Too excited to sleep, I kept one ear open all night, waiting for the traps to snap. Voila! At 2:07 a.m., I was delighted that my brainstorm would have to be patented!

Walking to the kitchen like one of my worthless cats that had just swallowed a canary, I saw, there in a jumble, all the traps that had been set off – but no mouse. Grabbing a paper bag to breathe into, I was contemplating turning the gas stove on and blowing the house up when one of the traps moved. Huh?

As I slid the trap out a little bit from underneath the dishwasher, zippp, back it went in. Looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching, I did it again and, zippp, back the trap went a second time! Realizing I had literally “caught a mouse by the tail,” the situation looked bleak. I could leave the little bugger there to die a long and inhumane death or pull the trap out all the way and be gobbled alive by his sharp little teeth. “Here, kitty, kitty!” fell on deaf ears, so I did the next most logical thing – “ED!!!”

Not one of my brightest moments. Ed came running out, anticipating a fire or a robber, and tripped over the great-horned owl that stood guard over all mice in my kitchen. The trip to the emergency room was pretty quiet. The doctor said Ed’s ankle was just sprained and not broken.

Wearing chew-proof welding gloves the next morning, I carried Mickey to the hedge away from the house and set him free. Two days later, I didn’t dare tell my husband that a very short-tailed mouse was staring at me with evil eyes from around the corner of the dishwasher as I fetched up some ice for Ed’s swollen ankle…