In the house.
It's the product of living in a brand-new subdivision where these field mice are having their homes disrupted by the construction coupled with the fact that our builder left a decent-sized hole in the storage closet under the stairs.
The first mouse I learned about while at worship team rehearsal for Christmas Eve services the Thursday before Christmas. I received a text message from Brad, "Bad news. I had to kill a mouse upstairs."
I gasped and groaned and was generally unhappy that our home had been invaded by a rodent. I got home and heard the story - Brad had Nyssa on his back, and his brother Brian and daughter Haley were here. They were all upstairs in the craft room, when the mouse darted between Brad and Brian. Long story short, Brad trapped the mouse in the closet and then stomped on it.
Mouse number 2 has the funniest stereotypical story. Brad and Nyssa were out running errands on the Sunday before Christmas. I was at home making a rum cake and had sat down at the computer to answer emails while waiting for the cake to finish baking. Out of my peripheral vision I saw something run across the hearth in the living room. I glanced up as my mind tried to process what I had seen. Was it a bug? No, it was too fast for a bug. Crap, it must have been another mouse. UGH. I called Brad and muttered quickly, "There is a mouse in the house. There is a mouse in the house!" At that moment, the little rodent decided to peek his little rodent head out from behind the speaker and look at me. I screamed in Brad's ear, "THERE IS A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!!!!" He told me he was right out front and to sit tight, he'd be right there to take care of the problem.
He walked in the door and handed Nyssa to me. He laughed because I was sitting on top of the bar in the kitchen. Nyssa was hungry, so I stayed on top of the bar with her and nursed her. Brad grabbed a wrought iron curtain rod to use as a weapon and started moving the stereo equipment and television to find our furry friend. Well, at that moment the plumber showed up to fix our leaking sink in the master bathroom. Brad paused his mouse hunt to let the plumber in. The plumber laughed at our predicament, completely entertained by Nyssa and me sitting up on the bar.
The mouse got brave and darted from behind the stereo across the living room and back into the laundry room. The funniest sight I have ever seen was my husband darting across the living room wielding the wrought iron curtain rod and yelling, "Come back her, you little...!"
Unfortunately, the mouse was pretty quick and dashed back into the aforementioned hole in the wall in the storage closet. *sigh* I knew we'd be contending with this creature again soon.
The next morning at 5:20, I heard a rustling on Brad's side of the bed. "Brad. Brad. BRAD, wake up! That stupid mouse is in our bedroom!!! He can't climb into the bed, right?" Brad reassured me that the mouse couldn't climb (I've since discovered evidence that this is not the case, they are apparently proficient climbers...more on that in a minute) and that Nyssa and I were safe in bed. He got up, went to the bathroom and got the stick to the toilet plunger, then turned on his bedside lamp and started looking for the mouse. The little guy darted into a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor. Brad threw a blanket on top of the clothes, scooped the whole pile up, and threw it all into our bathtub. Then he removed all the clothes and blanket, and I heard, "GO!" *whack* "TO!" *whack* "SLEEP!!!" *whack*
Mouse # 2 died a quick death and we were safe again...or so I thought.
A few nights later I was trying to get Nyssa to go to sleep while standing in "the magic spot" (at the bar-height countertop, facing the kitchen, with the laptop in front of me). Out of my peripheral vision I saw something dart under the front room doors. I turned to look, saw mouse # 3 and squealed, "ANOTHER MOUSE!" as the creature darted back into the room.
Brad got up from his computer, grabbed the toilet plunger from the front bathroom, and started his mouse hunt. Now, this front room is currently being used as a playroom/gigantic toybox, so it is full of great hiding places for a small rodent. Brad blocked off the entrance to the room and told me to watch and make sure he didn't escape. The mouse ended up getting trapped in the closet and his life ended shortly thereafter.
Brad has since plugged the hole in the closet under the stairs and we have not seen any more mice. We have seen evidence of mice in the way of droppings and a half-eaten Hershey's Special Dark bar in the pantry (which was my proof that they can climb, as it was near the top shelf, about eye level with me). I am not sure if this evidence is from the three mice that got into the house or if there are more that are lurking. Here's hoping it's from the dearly departed - I am tired of mice!