The summer cabin was in the throes of close. Cupboards were emptied for the winter and the peanut butter had been packed earlier for return to town. Mouse signs in the past week indicated a potential thousand or more who could greet the first person who opened the door in the spring.
An overturned trap, snapped during the night, had only a bit of peanut butter bait and no pest. I reached into the garbage sack for a used paper towel to wipe off the remainder and found the towel used to absorb bacon grease left from the bounteous breakfast.
'Grab a tiny piece of cheese for me, would you, please?' I called out to the feet that passed behind me and a couple of seconds later, my slippery fingers held cheese.
Flash forward twenty minutes. My fingers are still slick, the cheese is in place and the trap is finally set. Surely the purple shades of bruise on my knuckles will be gone in a few weeks.
There will be those who say I deserve pain for attempting to stop a cute little mouse invasion. There will be those who will cheer me on - particularly those who have known people felled by the illness these rodents carry.
But I have no doubt there will be a mouse or two who will wonder who moved the cheese and hid the bacon.