Regular readers will know that over the past couple of years we have been battling with mice.
Recently, despite a significant number of murders, I have given up the battle. Our current foe is clearly Mighty Mouse and deserving of some respect. His superpowers have enabled him to:
- Avoid all traps, both humane and evil.
- Take the food off of traps both humane and evil.
- Ignore the ridiculous amount of yummy poison we’ve sprinkled about the place.
- Managed to break into every full trash bag we place on the kitchen floor within ten minutes.
- Run by me three or four times a day, just to irritate me.
We were all ready to leave a congratulatory note, a lump of food, a Barbie glass of wine and a little cigar for him until last night. As usual he was running around as if we weren’t there and then going for a shit in the kitchen. But, last night I realised how he was hiding from me. To cut a long story short, I killed him with my fist. I’m not proud of killing the poor, beautiful, little thing, but it had started feeling like an elaborate strategy game, and I had to go for checkmate when the opportunity arose.
The idea that he was still alive and suffering is something I can’t bare so, to ensure his quick demise, I took him into the kitchen and hit the bag he was in with an old wine bottle, which broke into a thousand pieces on the floor. As I was clearing them up I cut my finger which means the little bastard drew blood from me after he died! Mousey, I salute you and apologise for taking your life.
The ambivalence and catharsis I experienced after killing the tiny, helpless little, chap, soon turned to guilt – especially when Michele discovered a tiny mouse in the humane trap later today. Maybe baby mouse looking for daddy who was due home hours ago…
The guilt is awful but I suppose nature is like that. He was shitting in our food! We let the little one go in a nearby park. Good luck mate.