We have mice in the house. Hopefully, only one or two. It's absolutely shocking. And old farm house on the prairie has field mice? I think they're getting in under the back door, because we never put a new concrete back stoop in after the geothermal, so there are a few holes. (We run a tight ship around here, yes indeed.)
The mice haven't really been much of a problem, but whenever I see one, I scream like a little girl. I just can't help it. A giant yelp involuntarily escapes me. What is that? It must be some sort of primal reaction.
Bad-Ass Husband (BAH) put out some mouse traps with cheese. At first, he didn't catch any, so he decided it wasn't good enough cheese. This is Wisconsin, after all. These mice are connoisseurs. Then he set out some cheese and the mice ate the cheese without getting caught. For a while, he was just feeding the mice. Then we caught one. Then we caught another, and just the mouse's foot was stuck, so he escaped into that hole under the back door. I let him escape. It was my fault. I was busy screaming like a little girl. But maybe the mouse just left and he isn't coming back? That would be nice.
I'm going out now to buy some concrete mix for the back porch.