On Killing a Mouse (with apologies to Mr. Orwell)

Killing a mouse and killing an elephant are two different things, aren’t they? Well, not entirely. I don’t see any justification for either unless it is to protect others – human beings, for example.

A nice and wide sticky trap and a lump of peanut butter was what it took. After the exterminator came earlier today and informed us that the mice were getting in through a gap between the wall and the floorboard behind the stove I placed two sticky traps in my room, which is the farthest place in the apartment from the kitchen before you plummet five stories down to the parking lot (for your trouble you’d get internal injuries, various broken bones, and a parking space too small for grown-up cars). One I placed at the entrance, the other by the heater, bookshelf, and storage box area. I ate lunch and took a nap as the wonderful aroma of peanut butter wafted through the room.

The screeching of a cassette tape going bad woke me. I hate that sound and that’s one reason why I switched to CD’s. But I think we all know that it wasn’t a cassette making that noise. Apparently my opponent was not as nocturnal as he would have me believe. I slid the boxes out of the way and there he was, all but his left hind leg stuck on the trap. He stopped screeching but I could see him breathing heavily. He was trembling. My heart sank. I looked at the label for the trap and discovered that unlike the sticky traps I’d seen before, this one from the exterminator contained no anesthesia. I got angry. The manufacturer, the exterminator, and I, through my failure to read the label, had all condemned this poor thing to either die of fright or, worse, dehydration -- so not good. Even an animal that is threatening your well-being does not deserve to suffer. Under other circumstances the same animal could be a loved pet.

I looked back at the mouse and thought about trying to get it off the trap, but I knew that was no good. The mouse’s bones would break and it's skin would tear before I got anywhere close to freeing almost all of his lower body from the glue. I’d do even more harm.

The thought of touching him made me think of the disease that mice spread. Suddenly I remembered my mother talking to the exterminator earlier in the day. Her hands were clasped below her throat. Her eyes were wide in fear. She told the man that she’d rather have an elephant in the apartment than a mouse.

I folded the cardboard trap (a brand I will never use again), doubling it over. Then, as I remembered my mother’s trembling, I struck right about even with where the mouse’s neck was. Sorry, mouse.