I knew it as soon as I heard the words come out of her mouth.

Killing any trespassing mice would no longer be an option.

The magic words that came from the wife?

"That poor little mouse, being thrown outside into the cold rain."

I mean, I could tell. At that very moment she was contemplating getting out one of the old gerbil cages and setting up a warm ,dry temporary home for our uninvited guest.

At least until the cold rain was over.

As you have probably gathered, the live trap set on the kitchen floor had a mouse in it this morning.

Again.

But I'm not sure. Is that the same mouse?

Looks like it to me. "Course almost all Peromyscus look the same to me.

Smelled the same, too.

We'd actually thought of this yesterday, but hadn't bothered to do it. Fearing that we might have the same mouse running in and out of the kitchen from our yard, today we decided to mark the little bugger.

And no, we didn't use the standard rodent marking technique practiced in the wildlife field.

Clipping a toe off.

How barbaric.

We dropped two drops of blue food colouring on it.

Didn't work, though. That picture above was taken after the blue colouring was applied, one drop between the shoulders, one on the head.

I really think we should have gone for bluing the white feet.

But anyway, that was my mistake. Yesterday, the wife never looked at the prey I had masterfully captured in my clever contraption.

But today, she did. To help with the blue food colouring.

And she thinks it's cute.

Which means no lethal means of control.

No, she didn't say that. And I was too wise to suggest it.

We've been married 26 years now, you know. I know what it means when the wife comes in the bedroom, and for no reason at all, says, ""That poor little mouse, being thrown outside into the cold rain."

Another reason to think this was the same mouse. Yesterday it scrabbled around frantically in the trap when I peeked in. Today, as we both checked it out, it merely stretched way up towards the open hatch.

"Pleeeease, let me out now."

Yeah. I know.

Cute.

So, with the snap trap option no longer an option (By the way Sis, speaking as a professional, we use a mixture of oatmeal and peanut butter as bait. Although, I suspect Addie's idea of mixing peanut butter with pet food kibble would work just as well.), I was forced to think of something else.

So, after wife and son departed for work, the little mouse was taken out back and deposited in the drizzly wet brush pile in the garden. It climbed out of the trap slowly this time, like it knew where it was going to be, but hadn't expected everything to be wet.

Yep. Same mouse. I'll bet.

I hope. Having one mouse come in every night to raid your kitchen is a whole lot better than having a herd of the little beasties take up residence inside.

So.

How is the little beastie getting in?

Well, I already had a good idea. The rubber weatherstrip under the front door is half missing, a victim of toenails as the heelers make mad dashes out the door umpteen times a day. I press my head to the carpet in the living room, and yeah, there's a good quarter-inch of sunlight coming through.

And then the stoop, probably the original wood step on the house, has a deep groove worn into it from human and heeler traffic, and there's a good half-inch gap under the storm door.

Mouse would barely even have to squeeze to get in. We're lucky we don't have a pack rat instead.

So, the morning was spent mounting a wood slat on top of the stoop, and resetting the storm door latch so it was snug against the new "stoop".

Looks mouse-proof to me.

We'll see tomorrow morning. The trap is set again, in the kitchen. With sloe pit bait.

Just to be sure.