We have mice. We have had mice for a few months. Honestly if they just lived in the garage I wouldn’t really care, but now they’re getting in the house and the cats are massacring them and it’s sad and gross.
So at like 2:30 I decided to do some gap filler around the garage to try and keep mice from getting in. I traced their entry point to the downstairs bedroom closet, where they’ve been nesting like. A lot. Judging on the amount of poop.
Unfortunately the downstairs bedroom closet is where we hide our hoarding. It’s like a 3x6’ closet full of Rubbermaids and moving boxes (Sarah would like me to point out that they mostly hoard household things whereas I hoard nostalgia and art supplies).
We spent two hours taking everything out of the closet, vacuuming up the poop/nests, going through the boxes to see what got eaten, and putting everything back. I’m ordering thick plastic bins to transfer anything in cardboard. I sprayed peppermint oil in the teeny tiny hole, filled it with gap filler, put a board over it, and wedged another board on top so the first one can’t move. And stay out!
I really like mice and I think they’re fucking adorable. Honestly I would build them a little sanctuary in the garage and give them all kinds of bird seed and blankets to tear up if they would stay there. But they insist on sneaking into the house and then being traumatized/killed by our adorable, vicious predators.
(Pic: Stevie, coldblooded fluff, parades around with a toy monkey she “killed.”)
