Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

I was working the other night when I heard a snapping noise and then a loud rustling. I'd caught a mouse.

Of course, this was exactly the worst timing, because I was in the middle of working. But I wanted to release it right away, since I wasn't sure what the stress would do to it.

My sister says that mice can panic and have heart attacks, and I still felt guilty about what happened the weekend I went away, forgetting to take up the mousetrap.

I scooped up the trap and took a look. It was a tiny gray mouse with black eyes, a lot more endearing now that it was on its way out of the house than it had been squeaking in my walls.

After attempting a photo, to negligible success, I threw on my shoes and coat, grabbed my keys and left a note on the door that said, "Gone to release a mouse," since The Gryphon was supposed to come over later.

I loaded Mousie up in the car and drove off, looking for a place to release it. This was a more difficult task, in suburban Philadelphia, than it would have been in Central Pennsylvania, where I grew up. In fact, we'd had a wooded area right behind our house and I probably would have struck off into the woods until I felt I was far enough away.

Here, just about any area with trees was too close to a residential community. This, I figured, was a bad idea because Mousie would enter someone else's house, someone who might use poison.

The traffic gods were kind to me that night, and I got nearly every green light as I drove, keeping an eye out for the perfect spot. I was nearly at a state park where I finally found a stretch that looked right. There were woods on either side of the road, and houses were few and far between.

This, I decided, was as good as it would get.

I put my flashers on, got out and walked across the road with Mousie. The mouse trap I was using was a humane mousetrap I'd bought from Abundant Earth, which I like quite a bit. The idea was supposed to be that you put a cracker in to block the exit way and then you can lift up a plastic door and watch the mousie eat its way out. It's supposed to be a less stressful way to be released, plus fun to watch.

But I didn't have time for the Cracker Show, so I pulled up the plastic door and pulled out the cracker. I heard a scuttling, as Mousie ran off into the woods. It was too dark to see anything, but at least I had the satisfaction of knowing it was free, hopefully finding new shelter and food sources that didn't involve me.

When I told my brother about this on the phone later, he teased me. He said, "It will be back."

"No, it won't," I said. "I drove miles before releasing it."

"They have a homing instinct," he teased.

Hopefully, I'm nearing the end of the mouse problem. I haven't heard many noises anymore, and evidence of mousies is nearly gone. But at least now I know the Mouse Relocation Plan can work. Provided, of course, their homing instincts don't kick in.

Copyright 2004 by Alyce Wilson

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