I don’t care what anyone else says, men are natural born hunters. I grew up in the city and so was not raised in a hunting and fishing culture. I didn’t even have any pets, other than a couple of cats with my first wife. Those cats and I (even though they are both dead now), we share a common urge. We are natural born mouse hunters.
It starts with a couple of tiny turd drops in the cutlery drawer, nestled inside of a teaspoon. No thank you, Mr. Mouse, I do not want two mouse turds in my coffee. Nice try, but now I’m on to you.
Hunting isn’t about physical domination. That would be fighting. Hunting is about getting into the mind of your prey. Outsmarting them. Luring them. Trapping them.
My mouse hunting tools consist of a 49 cent wooden mouse trap and a quarter teaspoon of Skippy peanut butter. That’s right, Mr. Mouse, you taunted me with the same teaspoon that I will use to lure you to your demise. And that brings me a particularly sweet kind of satisfaction.
The trap is now set. Come and get it. Here mousy mousy …