I think I'm pretty critter friendly. I re-habbed and released Elmo, a mouse that Hanna caught a few years ago and tried to turn into a squeaky toy, and I fed and cared for Buddy, the baby starling, until I could get him to a wildlife rehab person.



But the mice living at my house are just laughing at me.

I get up about 4 am, woken by the noise of the mouse party going on outside my bedroom door. I turn on the light on the back deck, only to piss off the three mice that I actually saw. Apparently, they like to climb up into this metal, 3 dimensional sculpture on the back wall of the deck. This makes alot of noise. When the lights went on, one mouse emerged, gave me a dirty look, and dropped to the ground. I could hear another mouse in the sculpture, and a third mouse dropped into a potted plant and started squeaking at me.


That's right, I was being sassed by a small, black mouse. Frankly, I don't think I have to tolerate backtalk.

I think they are immune to the poison I've put out (and that they seem to eat), and not all of of them are dumb enough to enter the Victor Electronic tunnel of death.


Sam aspires to be the great mouse hunter, but without much (or any), success. Could a cat be in my future? Or will I just then venture into the world of Tom and Jerry?


And we know who always won that battle . . .