My home is surrounded by
fields of sagebrush and wild grass
and a varied assortment of wildlife.
Deer, skunks, antelope, mountain lions,
an occasional porcupine, nesting ducks,
twin fawns stashed in the tall grass by
the irrigation pond.
All fine and well.
Beautiful, rustic, even desirable.
Then there's the mice who
periodically decide my house is
an all-you-can-eat buffet and
They were very stealthy this time,
hardly leaving any sign (that's turds
for the uninitiated) of their presence.
Since everything in the pantry is in
plastic, they must be living on
dog food or take-out.
They boldly wiggled their way
into a plastic tub with a loose lid,
chocolate bars stashed within,
slivers of tinfoil scattered
delicate teethmarks scoring the milk
chocolate goodness that was awaiting
a s'more bonfire night.
Obviously, war had to be declared.
Couldn't they have eaten the oatmeal,
for crap's sake?
Traps loaded with peanut butter
and stinky boxy glue traps are
cunningly located along the edges of
each room. We retire for the night,
smug in our strategies and
awake to a tiny mouse
forlornly squeaking in a glue trap.
Investigation revealed that at least
a battle had been won.