CHAPTER 141

2026-03-28

I just confirmed with my younger son that for over a year now, there has been no sign of mice in the house. Not only have we not seen them, we also no longer hear them scurrying across the ceiling.

One night in April 2023, sometime after 10 p.m., I clearly saw a small black furry ball—dragging a tail—dart swiftly across the carpet in front of a floor-standing bookshelf by the side of the living room. It slipped into the space beneath the closet beside the front door, hiding behind a metal shoe rack.

I immediately told my wife. We both shuddered. She was even more afraid of mice than I was—her face drained of color. What troubled us most was that early the next morning, we were due to depart for a trip to Osaka and Kyoto in Japan. There was simply no time to deal with such a serious rodent problem.

That night, my younger son and I cleared away some clutter, but the mice were bold—still moving freely inside the walls, their noises unsettling. During our absence, we had to rely on him to face the infestation alone. (See Article 28, “Tracking the Mice,” published February 13, 2025.)

After more than a year of infestation, my wife suddenly passed away, yet the mice continued to run rampant. During the period of mourning, my son worked while I focused on handling funeral matters and learning to adjust to life as a widower. Truth be told, neither of us had fully recovered, and we could not completely eliminate the mice—we dealt with them step by step, doing what we could.

In the stillness of night, I would often catch glimpses of a black furry ball flashing past a corner, or dashing boldly down the hallway. Worse still were the sounds of them moving within the walls, or the sudden snap of a mousetrap springing with a sharp crack. Once, I noticed a foul odor near the sink, coming from the cabinet below—it turned out to be a swollen dead “fur ball.” It had to be disinfected immediately, with windows open and fans blowing. Another time, a dead mouse was found partially crushed beneath a storage box.

The most lethal weapon was the mousetrap—altogether, nearly ten mice were dealt with this way. But the most effective solution was blocking off their points of entry.

About half a year after my wife’s passing, I had taken care of most matters related to finances, insurance, and her belongings. I established a routine with enough daily activities and adapted to a new rhythm of life. After turning sixty-five, I began writing three essays each week, making it the focus of my days, and spent the remaining time reading to enrich my life a little.

Then one night, while reading in the bedroom, a small black furry ball darted out from under my chair and disappeared beneath a clothes rack near my feet. To avoid it, I moved to the living room to continue reading. The next morning, I chose a spot in the sitting area with my back to the sunlight. Suddenly, the black furry ball shot out from beneath the stove in the kitchen, turned right, and ran toward me. Upon noticing my feet, it abruptly swerved—but lost its footing, slipping on the vinyl floor in a comical stumble before vanishing back under the stove. It was like a scene from a cartoon.

Though I am kind-hearted, I am still the rightful owner of this home. I had already yielded twice, merely hoping for some quiet time to read. Yet the mice showed no restraint, even daring to disregard me. This time, the “Pig” (my zodiac sign) was truly enraged—I vowed to block their nests, cut off their routes, and eliminate the problem once and for all.

That day, I put down my book, put on gloves and a mask, moved furniture, and traced droppings and signs of activity. At last, I discovered three new entry points along the base of the walls throughout the house, matching the escape routes I had observed.

I immediately cleaned and disinfected the areas, then sealed the openings tightly with steel mesh—strong enough to withstand even their teeth—secured them with thick wooden boards, and pressed everything in place with heavy furniture.

After continued observation, I was pleased to find no further signs of mice. It has now been over a year. I can finally declare victory in this battle—and share the good news with friends and neighbors.