By Jodi Rae Ingstad 

I was all prepared to write an insightful rendition of my new dental experience of this week.   
Apparently life happens and plans change. At least that’s what happened to me this morning.  
I don’t know how many people each week stop me on the street or in the store to ask about our mice problem. As a refresher you’ll recall that mice were born in the dashboard of my Jeep. My friend Sherry refuses to ride with me anymore and frankly I don’t really blame her.  
And then there is my house. Mice in quantity are as common as creamer in my coffee. I’ve just learned to live with disposing of multiple traps after the bait has been taken.
When I woke up this morning I noticed the cool, dark day and decided to let our two basement cats up to experience a little environment. I had a fire going in our cast iron, antique wood fireplace. I was drinking my coffee while sitting at the computer. I was doing that thing I do. I was reading all the obituaries out of all my favorite on-line newspapers and praying appropriately for all the families saddened by their losses. It was then that I heard a commotion in the living room.
The living room was dark except for the hot flame of the crackling fire dancing its lumens across the room. I could see what appeared to be my 2 female basement cats doing some sort of ballet.  These cats don’t usually get along when in the presence of one another so I found it odd that they appeared to be playing so well.
I didn’t hesitate to turn the light on immediately. What I saw made my adrenaline rush into overtime and my heart began beating fast. Adrenaline can be a good thing or it can be a bad thing. It causes you to quickly react. That’s the good thing. The bad part about adrenaline is you do things so fast you forget to think of consequences.
The poor cat had a sticky mouse trap with not one, but two fat, dead, mice stuck to its face! This is where I invite you to go buy a package of these traps to witness for yourself how sticky they really are. Adrenaline caused me to react without thinking. Instinctively I pulled the trap with some force and the cat screamed. It was the kind of scream you hear in horror films but of the animalistic nature.  A new surge of untapped adrenaline kicked in. I held the cat’s face while I carefully pried the sticky trap off. I walked back to the kitchen hoping with all my might that I could find a plastic bag to put the trap in. As I looked down I noticed only one of the mice on the trap.
The cats were still in the same corner.  I noticed one licking the face of the one I had just pulled the trap off of. And then I saw it. A dead mouse was still stuck to the side of her poor face! There is not need to tell you how I handled it. It would be too traumatic for you. The cat could use a therapist.  
In order for me to cope with horrid events my mind marries them to a common tune. This should be no exception. Sing it with me. In fact, let’s do it as a round. (To the tune of “Three Blind Mice please.”)
“Two fat, dead mice”
Two fat, dead mice.
See how they decay.
See how they decay.
They can’t run after the farmer’s wife.
She knows noth’in bout farm’in and lives with great strife.
The cat is in peril and wants a new life.
Without
Two fat, dead mice.
Two fat, dead mice.”
Dear Diary.  Sticky traps work. Today I caught my cat.