Mice

These mice are big, y'all. And bold. Just wandering past the kitchen sink before it is EVEN DARK. Last night was night three of my mission to kill, and it was the first night of success.

Is it so wrong that I kind of like when I hear the snap of the trap followed by a small little bit of scrambling and struggle? Oh, I am sure it is. But the bastards poop on the counter, on the high chair, on the dish rack. I have children living here. And one of them will put anything in his mouth.

I am merciless when it comes to this kind of thing, or as I have joked before, I don't have a heart. A few years ago we had a chipmunk problem. They'd get in and then run around all willy nilly (at least mice seem to be on a mission for food). So we set a have a heart trap. When we caught them, Bill dispatched with them. But then he was gone to Alaska. I caught one. And had no idea what to do. I fear bringing it somewhere because frankly, all I can think of as I drive with it in the cage in the back the car is "What if this is the one that figures out how to escape?" So I left it in the trap on the porch. When I came home, the neighbor's cat was sitting next beside the trap. Watching. And the next morning it was dead. I seriously think it just stressed out and died.

And this, of all the possible and threatened reasons, is why I will be going to Hell.