I can't do it.
A few posts ago, I wrote about the little badass field mouse who popped up out of my stove. And then I said that I had no choice but to 'murderate' them.
Well, come to find out, I can't do it. I can't kill even one mouse.
It's not because they can outsmart me. It's not because I haven't put out any traps. It's because I can't stand the thoughts of killing them.
By pure accident, I found a way around it. I started cooking again, and out jumped a field mouse. Instead of just standing there, I chased it....around the microwave, the dish pan, the sink, and down to the end of the counter, and back again. Then, he disappeared......into the back of my electric can opener, which has a slit in it to accomodate the cord. In my mad dash, I'd grabbed a tea tin to try to trap him- and so, I clamped it over the can opener, and began to vigorously shake it, trying to shake him into the tea tin. It didn't work. And so, I resolved that I would patiently wait him out- there was no way I was letting him go so he could shit on my counter tops.
Significant Other thought I was crazy. Then I happened to recall, I'm not the world's most patient person, unless it has to do with lying in wait to exact revenge, and this wasn't about revenge, this was about territory and survival- they just wanted to survive, and I just wanted them out. They'd done nothing to deserve to die. And so, the patient ran out quickly, and I racked my brain to figure out how to get that damn mouse out into the tea tin.
Enter Lightbulb: smoke him out. If he can't breathe in the can opener, he'll go where he can. And so, I rolled up a piece of paper and stuck it through a tiny, tiny opening I left for just this reason, I lit up a cigarette, and I exhaled into my paper pipe. A few drags in, the little shit came out....and we carefully put the top on, lest he get away.
Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment, I pulled a Bushism- I didn't have an exit strategy. I had the mouse in the tin, with the top on....now what? I did what any self respecting person would do, and I called the Keeper of All Knowledge and Wisdom: Mom.
Her advice: "Kill the little bastard. He shits everywhere, and he carries diseases. I know you don't want to kill him, but if you don't, he could kill your dogs."
That wasn't the answer I wanted, so I hung up, still unsure....
Enter Lightbulb: Take him far, far away. He won't be able to make it back, and he'll go find a new home for the winter.
So, Significant Other suited up (in a hoodie and track pants), and proceeded to drive about five miles down the road, and let him go.
We caught a second mouse, and repeated the process, sans the phonecall to Mom. We probably won't tell her that we didn't kill them, either. I just couldn't bring myself to do it, or to allow it to be done. My conscience just couldn't bear the weight of the murder of a mouse.
I'm such a puss.