Kathy shook me awake.

"Go see who is out there."

I stayed in bed, just like I did when an infant wanted a bottle at 2 a.m. or when Kathy said the refrigerator was making strange noises. Some problems do eventually go away if you avoid them long enough.

Kathy shook me more forcefully this time, solemnly whispering that somebody had broken into the house. It was my responsibility to stop whomever was out there. She suggested that I take a yardstick with me just in case.

Facing the intruders

The "who" were mice, probably more than three. They had decided that with October's icky snow and slop, it was time to find a more comfortable home. They had smartly traded in their dreary shed for the heated comfort of our home.

They were partying hearty and banging against the cheap prefabricated doors beneath the kitchen sink. A few garden potatoes had been kept there too long, and the mice found the spuds irresistible. I opened both doors and threw the cat inside with orders to earn her keep.

Mia quickly returned to her warm bed and I followed while mumbling about how mice seem to have an innate ability to penetrate any house.

"Did you take care of them?"

I certainly had, if filling their bellies with Russets is what she meant. I wasn't going to set traps at 2 a.m. because they can snap back. Sticky traps are a good option and so is poison, but mice often die in the most inconvenient places. I would be at my Marshal Matt Dillon best in the morning light.

Mice and other monsters beneath the bed kept me awake the rest of the night. We were all serenaded by Kathy's snoring, which resembled a rumbling train speeding down the tracks. I called her out on that the next morning, which isn't recommended for obvious reasons. She graciously accepted the apology that soon followed.

Return engagement

The pitter-patter of tiny feet echoed through the house again the next night. I was the only one who heard them this time. Traps had been set and two packets of poison were added for good measure. It was, by all accounts, going to be a quick and dirty war. A single trap snapped at 4 a.m., but there wasn't a mouse in it -- just less peanut butter and a little fur.

Kathy was awakened by the commotion.

"I want them gone now."

Kathy, who went through the pain and joy of three childbirths, is nonetheless terrified by mice. She will jump on a chair or couch at a sighting. Kathy suggests that we consider an exterminator, a Pied Piper of sorts.

The mice will be gone, eventually. Mice, I explained, are intelligent creatures that could in all probability survive a nuclear explosion. We have had other house invasions that were worse.

There were bats in the bedroom. A sparrow had flown through an open window and clipped Rachel. Somehow, a fat raccoon climbed the roof and made more noise than Santa Claus coming down the chimney Christmas Eve.

The monsters beneath the bed are far worse in terms of keeping me awake at night. Kathy doesn't hear them, which is good. They speak of bills that must be paid and of bad things that could happen.

Meanwhile, the mice have a new ally. Thousands of Japanese beetles have invaded the south porch. The annoying creatures fill every available space and are determined to cause misery. The vacuum cleaner struggles to keep up.

The mice are slowly being brought under control. The monsters under the bed aren't going anywhere, not that I expected them to.

Mychal Wilmes is managing editor of Agri News, a weekly agriculture newspaper published by the Post-Bulletin Co. His column appears every Monday in the Post-Bulletin.

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