Built in the year 1818, my parents’ home is an utterly charming little post-and-beam Cape, set on the corner of two tiny roads in a rural Maine town. Surrounded by trees and meadow, it paints an idyllic picture and has welcomed, nurtured and cocooned the family for years now.

Sit in it quietly, though, and one cannot help but be aware that we are not the only ones there. This respite from the busy world is also the Rodent Riviera.

My family is packed full of nature lovers and bleeding hearts, so this would be “fine” except that, well, it’s not.

Set against the watercolor Beatrix Potter illustrations of our collective imaginations, is the technicolor nightmare of chewed electric wires, stolen insulation and spreading disease due to the vast, cascading dunes of mouse droppings housed within the ceiling. They’re there. I found them. The hard way.

So, obviously, something must be done. The question is: what?

For the record, we have tried various liquids (everything from peppermint oil to predator pee), the sound frequency boxes you plug into electrical outlets, Havahart traps… no dice.

The ante must be upped.

I’ve spoken with some exterminators. They sound very competent and good at their jobs. The thing is, yikes.

Most professional exterminators seem to rely upon poison. Problem being, owls often eat those lethargic, slow mice and then they, too, die from the poison. So bait traps are a no-go.

Glue traps? I know that no “solution” is exactly a trip to Disneyland, but glue traps are just cruel. So, no.

Standard traps, the old snap kind, are – ugh, is “better” the word I want? I guess so. I mean, at least it is a quick death. But the bait feels a little like a setup. Plus, then I have to deal with the body and I am a wuss.

Which brings me to cats.

What if there were “holistic exterminators?” People who employed teams of cats to rid a home of mice? Sort of like the folks who rent out herds of goats to trim up lawns and fields.

Picture it: feral cats (who know how to hunt) are rescued and adopted into the program. They are given love, food and medical care, including spay and neuter.

When out on a job, they live inside the client’s home, provided with everything they need: food, water, a litter box and a comfy bed. Believe me, none of these creature comforts dull a formerly feral cat’s urge to pounce on prey.

While the cats are working, their humans are, too. Plugging up points of entry, wiping down surfaces, vacuuming out nests and poop – generally making the home less attractive to the mice and safer for the people who live there.

At the end of their stay, the cats get packed up and go back with their handler, either to the next job or to their “home base” to rest and prepare. For their services they earn a fee which more than covers their adoptions and care.

As for the mice? Well, they have at least been given the courtesy of a clear, unmistakable predator, the evolutionary message that “this place is no longer for you.” Also, a quicker (maybe) – or at least more natural – death than by the other means. No toxins. No trickery.

It’s not perfect, but it seems better than the alternatives.

If such a service already exists – drop a line and let me know! Until then, I’ll be the one in the store, buying up all the vacuum seal boxes in which to store every single little thing in the hopes the mice will take the hint and vacate of their own accord.

I’ll never be able to read the “Rats of Nimh” with a clear conscience again.

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