So there’s this mouse in my house that thinks he’s smarter than I am. He (or she) has another thing coming.
For one thing, I’m 73 years of age, experienced in the ways of the world. I have a master’s degree.
Then there is this mouse in my house, mainly in the kitchen cabinets. He (or she) has escaped execution for months, like a cocky little Pancho Villa. That mouse can’t be older than 24 months. I’m 73, so experience must be on my side. And, did I mention? I have a master’s degree in psychology and higher education.
So I put out three traps, one with a smoked Gouda cheese, the second with a French provolone. These traps are just confidence builders for the mouse. I don’t even engage them. Then, under the cookie trays next to the stove, I set the clincher, a Wisconsin aged white cheddar.
This morning I rush to the kitchen. The smoked Gouda and French provolone are untouched. The white cheddar is gone. The trap is still set. I see a tail sticking out from a cookie tray.
Maybe having a master’s degree doesn’t make me the big cheese after all.