What the Heck Is That?! – Vintage Recipe Ridicule

 

THE TAIL END

Many moons ago, back when I lived in NJ, my kitchen had one of those double‑door pantry setups built into the cabinetry. The drawers slid out, and at the very top of the double doors was that cabinet - you know the one - the “over‑the‑refrigerator height” cabinet that no human being has ever used on purpose. The cabinet reserved for things like holiday platters used once a year, or junk we no longer use but couldn’t bring ourselves to throw it out.

THAT type of cabinet!

However, I used it as the place I hid sugary treats from my kids, so they wouldn’t run around like little caffeinated monsters.

One night, after the kids were asleep and the house was finally quiet, I was sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine. That’s when I heard it - a noise coming from the pantry. A suspicious, rustling sound like, “someone is trying to move in without paying rent” noise.

Wintertime. Pantry. Noise.

I knew exactly what that meant.

A mouse was trying to claim squatter’s rights!

I opened every drawer like a detective searching for evidence. But I found nothing. No droppings, no crumbs, no tiny mouse graffiti. Zilch! Then I remembered the top cabinet - the snack vault.

I dragged out the step stool, opened the cabinet, and saw something scurry to the back.

Aha!

A mouse. I was right!

A pantry‑raiding, cookie‑nibbling, sugar‑seeking mouse.

Sure enough, the cookie bag had been chewed open like it was the mouse’s personal subscription box. I threw the cookies out, removed everything else, but saved one cookie in a sandwich bag to use as bait later. If I was going to catch this mouse the next day, I was going to do it with dignity and dessert.

The next morning, I bought a humane trap - the kind with a little door that closes behind the mouse so you can release it back into the wild to live its tiny mouse life in another part of town. That evening after dinner, I broke off a piece of cookie, placed it inside, and waited.

The kids were in bed, so it was quiet again… Conditions were perfect for the mouses smorgasbord! I sat quietly, then I heard it- 

CLUNK!

That trap door closed like a pub at 2 am.

AH‑HA! GOT YOU!

It was snowing outside, so I left the mouse in the trap overnight. It had air holes and a cookie snack, so I don’t think the mouse minded too much- it was like it was in a hotel with room service.

The next day, I asked my oldest son (16) to take the trap down the block to the woods and release the mouse. He returned with the empty trap like a hero.

I reset it again the next night.

Nothing.

Checked again in the morning.

Nothing.

Checked every day for a week.

Nothing. So, I assumed the mouse was a lone ranger, and I stopped checking after that.

Weeks later when I came down to make coffee… a smell. A horrible odor. I tracked it to the pantry. Checked every drawer. Nothing rotten in it. Then it hit me:

THE TRAP!

Oh no... Ohhhhhh no!

 I climbed up, opened the cabinet, and there it was - with the door closed and the odor prominent. The mouse died in tiny mouse jail. My stomach turned. That poor thing had died because I stopped checking and forgot I set it.

I felt awful. It had its last meal and that was it. I took the trap to the bathroom, turned it upside down over the toilet…Nothing came out. I shook it. Still, nothing dropped out.

 Back to the kitchen. Thinking…

Trying to figure out how to remove a deceased mouse without turning my home into a biohazard zone. I didn’t want to throw it in the kitchen garbage because the smell would be biblical by morning. And if I tossed it in the outside can, raccoons or a bear would smell it and start rummaging for their midnight buffet. So, it definitely had to be flushed! I decided to pull it out by the tail to flush it.

Quick pull, clean flush, done, right?

I reached in, grabbed the tail… And the tail came off!!!

Just the tail.

In my hand!

I screamed! Dropped the trap, it hit the floor and the rotting mouse dislodged! My kids came running...

“What happened Mommy?”

I couldn’t speak. I just pointed down. My daughter: “EWWWW IT’S DEAD!”

My youngest son: “WHERE’S ITS TAIL?”

My oldest boy: “Gross.”

 And there I stood, holding the tail like it was some kind of deranged trophy. Then my oldest (bless this child), he ran and grabbed paper towels, picked up the whole mess, took the tail from me, bagged everything, and brought it outside.

At that point, I didn’t care if a bear tore open the garbage can and decorated my lawn with trash. Let the wildlife have at it. I was DONE.

I never put food in that top cabinet again. However, upon further inspection, I found a small crack where the back of the cabinet met the wall - the mouse’s secret entrance. I sealed it up with caulk like I was patching a submarine hull.

And that was -

The tail end!