Neither of the animals had noticed anything. None of the food left laying around had visibly been bothered. There was no squeaking of rustling or scratching or any telltale signs whatsoever that we were cohabitating with a rodent. Until we discovered little poopies behind the toaster oven, and under the pan on the stove, and behind the microwave, and on top of the microwave..... and that's when we bought the trap. I baited it with jalepeno havart and carefuly slid it behind the toaster oven.

Now, I hate to kill anything. I hate death. I find the fact that anything is alive to be a miracle of God. If something was in perfect working condition, but dead, there's not a thing any human could do to make it live. Life itself is a magical thing that comes and goes so unexpectedly that is seems like a great violation to rip it away at my own whim.

Having said that, there's a dead mouse on my counter, and I killed it. I don't feel great remorse. I know there was no alternative. I know that they're dirty and filthy disease ridden vermin. But now that it's there with it's neck broken in a trap that I set, I don't want to go near it. Once I get dressed, I'll pick up the trap with my thumb and forefinger, and holding it as far away from me as possible, I'll take it to the dumpster in the back alley and release it into the wild.

It's not the gross factor. I'm not one of those girls...... it's the dead factor. Death is so repulsive to me. Necessary, but sickening.

So come on over. this is now a mouse free house, unless you count the angry spirit of a mouse whose life was cruelly and prematurely ripped from his fragile furry body.