Saturday morning, 4:30. I woke to the sound of birds babbling (yes, I know it's brooks that babble, but we have no brook at the cottage and believe me, they were babbling). Then I noticed a scratching sound. At first I thought that a squirrel or a mouse had gotten into the house (it happens and for the record, if you read the linked post he never came back, intelligent creature that he is).
But then I realized it was outside. Being the curious fool tht I am - though how I can be curious at that ungodly hour is beyond me - I got up, wandered outside nekkid as the day I was born (it was a hot night) and realized the noise was coming from the BBQ.
I shook the plastic BBQ cover and it stopped, so I wandered back to bed thinking that shaking a BBQ cover nekkid in the middle of the night when you don't know what's in there might not be the most intelligent of moves.
In the morning the sound woke up Mr. Jazz. So, being the good wife that I am, I go outside, take off the plastic cover and opened the lid.
There, tucked away into the corner was a nest.
In the nest was a little brown mouse and her three little mouslings (is that even a word?) They were about as big as my thumbnail. Wee little things. Blind and hairless wee little things. Blind and hairless remarkably ugly wee little things - like most brand new babies I suppose.
Now, I usually have no problem killing the mice that get into the house, otherwise we'd be overrun. I am our family's official mouse killer. Mr. Jazz is just too damn nice. Though to his credit, he is turning into a decent disposer of already dead rodents.
Sitting there with her little babies?
I shut the BBQ and told Mr. Jazz he simply couldn't use the gas grill for a couple of weeks. After all, he also has a charcoal grill.
It seems that was not an option. If the official family cook tells the offical family rodent terminator that something to do with food is not an option, it is definitly not an option. No discussion. The problem must be fixed.
So I got a box, made a hole and tried to get her the hell out of the grill, cept she went under the pumice stones (it's an antique grill, we need a new one, and a future "Cottage Moment" will explain why we probably won't get it just yet. Not a pretty story, but I digress). She still had one baby stuck on her teat, and she was running around dragging him (her? it?) along behind her. Ouch.
Let your mom go you idiot! Must've been a boy. 'Cause boys and boobs, ya know.... Brand new wee baby mice are definintely not the most intelligent of creatures.
I almost caught her. Almost. But it's amazing how quickly such a tiny thing can move, and off she ran under the outdoor fireplace. Since I didn't have her, I picked up the nest and the three babies and put them in the box which I tucked under the fireplace with a few sunflower seeds cause all that excitement must have made her hungry and I figured we sort of owed her one. I'm such a freaking bleeding heart.
Next morning, the seeds were eaten and the babies had been taken away.
Either she came to get them (and they're now living in the fireplace and might be inadvertently roasted) or some squirrel came and had a snack.
I prefer to believe the first option. Though I’m probably wrong…
PS: Why does Blogger insist on adding multiple spaces between my paragraphs if I add a picture to a blog? I know Blogger, like God works in mysterious ways, but this is ridiculous. I usually have to edit 4-5 times in order for it to be ok. Grrrrrrr