This afternoon, I was in the living room, in the middle of a conference call, when I heard some rustling noises coming from the kitchen.
For a few brief seconds, I entertained the thought that it might be, say, dishes in the sink shifting, or maybe the garbage settling. But the rustling kept happening. So I went over to take a look.
Yeah, it was a mouse stuck in the glue trap.
Since I was still on the call, there wasn't much I could do. Luckily (if you could call it that), the mouse was stuck fast, so it wasn't going to get away.
Now, look -- I know I could get a humane, live catch mousetrap. But when it comes to mice, catch-and-release just seems kind of pointless. Besides, if you subscribe to castle doctrine (as I do), I reserve the right to use deadly force to protect my home from invaders.
So, after I finished the call, I prepared to deal with the mouse. I wouldn't say that I'm particularly squeamish when it comes to rodents -- let's just say that I'm cautious when it comes to dealing with potential biohazards. (Hantavirus, anyone?)
I ended up double-bagging the trap in some grocery bags, placed a handy 1x5 scrap board on the locus of the rustling lump, and stepped firmly. (Okay, stomped.)
The rustling stopped.
I can't say I enjoyed it.
Also, while I considered taking photos, I decided against it. You sick, twisted bastards.
Anyway, I seem to have avoided PTSD, but I do have to admit it's one of the reasons I stayed in tonight.