We’re having a little mouse issue right now at The Little Hacienda.   It’s undoubtedly due to the change in the weather, the little guys naturally seeking a nice warm place to ride out the Florida winter.  Of course, when it hits 80 again in a few days, that could prove to be a poor decision.  We first heard a little something in the attic about a week ago and, having had a similar experience some fifteen years ago, knew how to proceed.  First was to find the means of entry.  I found a small hole in the facia on the south side of the house, which I plugged.  Unable to find our old live trap, we bought a new one.

These are little dune mice, not big hulking city things.  They live, naturally, in the dunes, and occasionally make their way across A1A to our little sanctuary, which accounts for the healthy snake population we sustain.  They are tiny, about 4 inches long, (minus the tail), dark brown, and quite cute.  Just not in the attic.  The remedy is to set a live trap up in the attic, baited with either cheese or peanut butter.  Turns out this iteration prefers cheese.  We trapped one a couple days after setting out the trap.  We were having coffee and reading the paper when we heard the trap engage, then a frantic clanging as the little fellow tried to escape.  Our method of disposal is relocation.  We take them up the road to the North Peninsula State Recreation Area, and release.  We are not fond of family separation, but in this case, given their proclivity for reproduction, a period of separation will probably do them, and us, a world of good.

Which is what I did.  Hoping that was it, we nevertheless re-baited the trap and put it back in the attic.  Sure enough, a day later we heard footsteps. Nothing for a couple days, and then last night we heard the cage engage again.  I waited until morning to retrieve the trap, when I should have gone up right away.  I discovered the little guy had died!  No trauma; the trap is large enough to accommodate a hefty raccoon.  I believe he died of fright, and we feel terrible about it.  I took him back over to the dune, said a few words, and placed him down in the palmettos.  Later that same day, today, I heard the tell-tale ruckus, and on investigating, found we had caught another of the little interlopers.  This one I transported up the beach and let him out across from a beach bar at happy hour. He scampered in the other direction, down the dune.

But the whole thing brings to mind another incident, speaking of raccoons.  We have a little get-away house over on the west side of the state, making us truly bi-coastal.  How we acquired, and have held what we lovingly call The Little Hacienda West, or TLHW, for 17 years without renting it out or actually living in it is a story for another blog, so we’ll hold off on that for now.  The fact is we had a family of raccoons, a mom and two babies, take up residence in that attic several years ago.  I happened to be there by myself for a bit, and was naturally tasked with getting them out.  My research into the matter told me that light and loud sound would drive them out.  As luck would have it I had a shop light for some other work I was doing there, and a pair of giant HED speakers.  And again, there’s a subject for another blog.  Whatever happened to big speakers?  Everything is miniaturized now, and virtually useless.  If it doesn’t rattle the walls and loosen plaster, what good is it?

Anyway, I put the light up in the attic and then lugged one of the big speakers up.  I turned the connected radio to a classic rock station, and let loose with some Zeppelin.  Nothing.  I could see three pair of beady little eyes staring back at me from the recesses of the attic.  Next up was Metallica.  Surely that would get them moving.  Long story short, they didn’t budge for any music I tried.  I then had a sinister idea, and switched from FM to AM, searched for a few minutes and stumbled on Rush Limbaugh.  After ten minutes of Rush, mama was herding the youngsters out the way they’d come in, an impossibly small opening next to the electric meter on the wall of the shed out back.  Draw your own conclusions.  I’m not saying another word.

And we spotted this guy sliding down a palm a few evenings ago back at The Little Hacienda.  I think he (she) may have been scoping out a warm attic.  All this because we have a relatively unique habitat here, for a residence, anyway.  Stay tuned for blogs on our wonderful nearby parks, Bicentennial, a mile south, and North Peninsula, 2 miles north.