Our house became overrun with mice this past weekend. I blame Chris's guest, Jordan, who probably brought a bag of mice with him from Utah or wherever and let them loose in our house just for his amusement. He's moving to Granada today, but it will probably be hard to get a sack of vermin through customs.
Our landlord hired Orkin and he put traps all over. Not the catch-and-release kind. Not even the old-school snappy kind which kills them instantly, but roach motel types that the mice stick to so they starve to death, terrified and immobile.
I was exhausted last night and went to bed early, and just as I was dozing off I heard a rustle and a squeak. I tried to ignore it, but the squeaking continued, and soon started to sound a whole lot like crying. After about thirty minutes, I came out and asked the guys to help me. I told them I saw it stuck and struggling in lonely futility and was stupidly upset.
I went to the bathroom and Chris went in and pulled the trap out from under my radiator. Through the door I heard Chris, Jordan, and Sam talking.
Chris: It's so cute.
Jordan: I know. It sucks. But you can't let that stuff in your house.
Sam: Shouldn't we give it a quick, humane death by drowning or something?
Chris: You wanna drown it?
Me (from the bathroom): Just kill it!
Chris: I can't kill it.
Me: Me either.
Finally, Chris took it outside and threw it in the trash, which was cowardly and cruel of us, but I just didn't have any balls last night. This morning I vowed next time I would. I will smash it with a hammer or drown it in the sink. I'll be braver next time.