The Mosiman Mouse Motel: They check in and then we check them out, asking first, "Did you enjoy your stay?"

As I desperately tried to divert my friend Pat's attention from my rather sloppy front wind-shield during our winter drive to Buffalo, some skeletons inadvertently slipped out of the closet. Not everyone is sympathetically understanding regarding my hyper-sensitivity to animals so I am selective with whom I share some of my stories. When I casually mentioned the Mosiman catch-and-release mouse program, Pat was quick to offer up some rodent rescue situations of her own so I felt that I was traveling with a kindred spirit.

The Mosimans learned a long time ago that the best mouse-trap in the world is a tall kitchen garbage container with the bag removed. It took us awhile to understand that a trapped mouse develops super-powers that transform its little legs into pogo-sticks but eventually we learned to anticipate the popcorn effect. Practically every morning for small stretches of time, the girls and I would habitually drop off a relocated rodent into a small grove of pine trees on our way to school until Sydney began noticing the regular appearance of a hawk on the telephone wires nearby. So much for our rescue attempt...instead, we'd inadvertently trained a predatory raptor to associate breakfast with a blue truck.

The conversation naturally shifted from mice to rats. Also unreasonably soft-hearted, Pat told a story of an unfortunate rescue attempt of her own as she tried to implement a sticky trap to rid her house of unwelcomed rodents. The trap apparently worked like a charm and Pat solemnly encountered her furry friend. Now what? The implicit understanding of what was suppose to follow after the successful capture was lost on Pat up to this point but as the realization sunk in, Pat scrambled to un-do what had been done. So it was, that Pat and her (apparently ridiculously understanding) husband could be found huddled over their kitchen sink, bathing the feet of a very confused rat in vegetable oil in a desperate attempt to free him.

My own rat story wasn't quite as compassionate. Several years ago, rats invaded our basement in hordes. Prior to going downstairs, my family would don miner's helmets and bang on the walls, bellowing, "We're coming down," to give the rats plenty of time to hide. Brad, the only brave one among us, would venture down to sit in solitary (and terrifying) darkness with the b-b gun while the girls and I would wait, breathless on the second floor, certain that the rats would overcome him. After announcing my intent to descend into the madness that was my basement, I crept around the corner to come face-to-face with a rat. We both froze. Spotting a hammer on a nearby shelf, I, in a moment of courageous idiocy, grabbed it. The rat responded by rearing up on its hind legs like a mighty stallion, bearing vicious teeth and, I swear, raising its clenched little fists in a striking pose. Naturally, I dropped the hammer and ran screaming up the stairs to never visit the basement again.

Unfortunately, we have barely scratched the surface of this particular conversation topic. Sadly, I could set up an entire blog-site devoted to the theme of rodents but it's time to push these tiny-sized skeletons back in the closet. I want to be the person who can set that trap, catch that mouse, and dispose of it without remorse. My life would be so much easier. Now please, don't even get me started about spiders...sigh.