The Night I Almost Gave Up
My name is Sarah.
I live in Ohio with my husband, our two kids, and our golden retriever, Cooper.
Three months ago, I thought our home was clean and safe.
Then one Monday morning, I moved the toaster to wipe the counter.
That's when I saw them. Tiny black droppings. At least a dozen.
Right next to where my daughter eats breakfast.
My stomach dropped.
I scrubbed the whole counter with bleach. Twice.
That afternoon, I drove to Home Depot and bought a pack of snap traps.
By Wednesday, I'd caught two mice. I felt like I was winning.
By Saturday, fresh droppings were back on the same counter.
So I ordered peppermint spray on Amazon. Sprayed it everywhere. The house smelled amazing.
Next morning? Droppings. Right next to where I sprayed.
I stuffed steel wool behind the stove. Mice chewed around it.
I bought ultrasonic plug-in repellers. Zero change.
I tried a glue trap once. Found a live mouse stuck to it, squealing.
I threw the whole thing in the trash and cried.
Finally, I called an exterminator. $200 for the first visit. $75 a month after that.
He laid bait stations and left.
For two weeks, the droppings stopped. I thought it was finally over.
Three weeks later, fresh droppings behind the microwave.
I opened the cabinet under my kitchen sink and looked at what was in there.
Half-empty peppermint spray. A box of unused traps. Steel wool. Ultrasonic repellers I'd unplugged.
Seven products. Three months. Over $400 spent.
And the mice were still there.
That's when I realized something had to be fundamentally wrong with how I was fighting this.