Reason #42 why being an adult sucks.

I came home yesterday to find a mouse in one of the sticky traps left by
our exterminator. My roomate and I voted unanimously not to touch it
with the excuse that other mice might follow it into the trap. The
truth was neither of us wanted to touch a little box (reminiscent of a
HotPocket microwave wrapper) with a live mouse squirming around inside.

But tonight I decided that 24 hours was long enough. So I pulled the
"crisping sleeve" sticky trap out from behind the fridge. It felt
heavier than I expected so I peeked inside. It was the same cute furry
little butt with a long tail and tiny hind foot on tiptoe stuck to the
inside of the cardboard that I had seen the night before.

...and it was still moving.
I couldn't bring myself to turn it around to see the face. The poor
thing had been all alone, knowing it was probably going to die, for over
24 hours.

I put the trap inside the paper bag I had been using for garbage. Sarah
stopped me and put that bag inside a plastic bag and tied it up tight.
I walked the garbage bag with its living, breathing refuse around the
corner to the dumpster.

As I dropped the lid on the dumpster, I pictured the little furry face
crying and the little furry feet still yanking and pulling in the
darkness with hope to get free from the stickiness as it would slowly
suffocate and or freeze to death all night in a smelly Chicago City
waste receptacle. I knew I would be thinking about it all night and I
would probably have nightmares about drowing or getting buried alive

So as I said a little prayer for forgiveness from the mouse, I spied a
brick in the construction area behind my apartment. I picked it up and
pondered the possibilities.

I took the brick back to the dumpster, set it on the ground, and pulled
out the garbage bag. I ripped a hole in the bag and first pulled out
the mouse flavored hotpocket and set that carefully on top of the brick,
then dumped the contents of the garbage bag loose into the receptace.
Then I put the trap and mouse back into the black plastic garbage bag
and wrapped the excess plastic around several times to make a garbage
bag coocoon around my little furry friend and his cardboard coffin.

I layed it gently on the floor of the alley, got down on one knee,
lifted the brick, weighed it in my right hand, dook a deep breath, and
slammed that brick down as hard and fast as I could on the body of the
suffering mouse deep within.

It went down too easy. So afraid that I had missed, I moved slightly
and brought it down again, and again, again, again, until I tasted
something salty and wet hit my lip. I hoped with all my heart that it
was just rainwater on the soggy asphalt that had splashed up into my
face. Fighting the urge to vomit, I lifted the flattened black plastic
cocoon into the dumpster, and replaced the brick exactly where I found
it.

Sarah discovered me washing my hands in a Shakepearean manner.
"You feel dirty?" she asked, not knowing the details.
All I could say was, "yep."