I’ve been on a mouse hunt the past few days.
I remember when my dad used to set traps around the house, and I felt bad for the mice and rats he was killing.
These little buggers dart around in my peripheral vision. They think they’re so quick, but I know their game. Part of the problem is, when you live inside a library with a lot of important stuff on the floor below you, there is no room for messing around with any liability.
The mice did hit me back.I recently found a “bonus” prize: the half-decomposed, half-mummified body of a mouse who had been stuck to one of those glue traps and dragged himself under the fridge to die—it really must have been an awful way to go, but his revenge lasted weeks; I’d been wondering why my fridge smelled sour despite all my cleaning efforts.
I’m very convinced of the humanity of the classic spring snap mousetrap. There is really no quicker way to go. You take a bite, and it’s over before you even taste the cheese. I hope I go that quickly, I just hope that when I ultimately bite the cheese, mine comes with a small side of dignity.
I figured my journal would be a-okay without a picture gallery of my murder spree, so instead, here is a collection of shattered childhood fantasies:
Update, 8-19-2015: Retrospectively I’d like to add that there was much more to this story. In fact, I had been falsely accused by one of the NBWM employees of causing the infestation when it was clearly something that had happened long before I got that. Not only did I kill all of those suckers, I got no credit for my murder! This was a serious case of “whoever smelt it dealt it.”