Mouse Hunt: Part III

Busted.

The mouse is dead.  Before I could even post my "help us name the mouse" poll.  Name candidates included The Earl of Snackington, Herman Muenster (spelling intentional), William Jennings Bryan (three-time candidate for President and opponent of the gold standard.. how fun would it be to say things like "William Jennings Bryan chewed a hole in the Triscuit box" or "I just saw William Jennings Bryan behind the fridge"), and Heisenberg.  I'm post-humously naming him Heisenberg.  Respect.

I walked home tonight after getting dinner with my cousin Katie.  I called my parents to chat as I made my way home.  I was still on the phone with my mom when I walked into my apartment, and immediately saw the trap that had made its way a foot and a half out from under the kitchen counter.  Stuck to it was Heisenberg himself.

Not. Dead. Yet.

Heisenberg, ya dead? No, man.

After some incoherent squealing coupled with the poor cell reception in my apartment, my mom insisted I slow down and tell her what was happening.  I told her the mouse was caught in one of the sticky traps but wasn't dead.  The lower half of his body was caught in the trap but he was using his face and/or hands to scoot his way forward.  He was sporadically flailing his head about as I talked my way through this which only led me to question how long it had taken him to move a foot and a half.  How long had I been torturing this furry little creature? Suddenly, I was no longer out for blood, determined to eliminate this pest that had settled in my apartment without an invitation.  Maybe it was because I had a long conversation with my co-workers today about the death of our family pets.  Maybe it was because he seemed a lot smaller and cartoonish up close.  Maybe it was because he didn't even get to eat any of the peanut butter out of the trap.  But suddenly I felt very sorry for the mouse.  And suddenly I was crying.  Like really really crying.

I shall remember you as the adorable mouse that you never were.

My mom put me on the phone with my dad who proceeded to talk me through the rest of this situation. (Sidenote: Carolyn, hope you're having fun at Bonaroo.  This weekend has been eventful.  We'll catch up over some Seamless web in a few days.)  Dad was not really having any of this crying business, so he told me my best option was to.. wait for it.. drown the mouse in the toilet.

Hang on a second..

Yes, I heard that right.  Drown the mouse.  In the toilet.  That seems like it would calm my nerves, right?  How am I supposed to get the trap out of the toilet then?  What if the mouse comes out of the sticky trap in the toilet and then I have to pick up the DEAD, TOILET-WATER-SOAKED MOUSE out of the toilet WITH MY BARE HANDS?

Dad: Ok, do you have any other traps?  Yes, obviously I have 9 of them.  Ok, take one of those and put it on top of the mouse and then put the whole thing in a bag and take it out to the trash.

Somehow this mouse trap sandwich idea seemed a little undignified.  Can't explain it, but it wasn't sitting right with me.  I asked my dad if maybe I could put some of the mouse poison pellets in front of Heisenberg so that he could inch his way toward them, eat them, and then die in his sleep.  That idea was.. well.. we'll say it was "scoffed at."  Back to the drowning plan...

I took a tall piece of Tupperware (sorry, Carolyn.  I'll replace it before you get home) and filled it with water.  Bear in mind, my dad was on the phone with me for this whole process.  Bear in mind, the mouse was still squirming around during this whole process.  Simply horrifying.  Nevermind the fact that as I was narrating this, my dad said, "Of course he's moving around, he's fighting for his life."  Oh my GOD, not helping.  Now I had to work up the nerve to pick up the trap, with the live mouse still wriggling around on it, and stick it in the Tupperware container.

It was one thing to set a shitload of traps in the hopes of "catching" the mouse.  I knew catching the mouse meant killing it but, you know, out of sight, out of mind.  Now I wasn't just catching the apartment mouse anymore.  I was putting Heisenberg to death.  There's an episode of The West Wing that deals with the morality of capital punishment.  I don't remember the exact crime committed but there is a man who is on death row who is about to be executed and there is a chance the President might spare his life.  Whatever the crime was, it is clear that is was something really horrible but even as basically everyone is agreeing that he should be put to death, C.J. Cregg, the Press Secretary, says, "I just wish I didn't know his mother's name, that's all." Well, I wish I hadn't looked Heisenberg in the eyes or known he likes peanut butter or mentally associated him with those dogs with wheels instead of hind legs.

BRB, just have to go drown this adorable, handicapped puppy in my toilet.

I was very upset at this point and told my dad how small Heisenberg was.  "Yeah, of course he's small.  There's millions of them.  You want them to give you diseases?"  This was said in the you-know-who-else-cut-corners?-Janis-Joplin Mr. Weir tone.  Amazing.

His best line, however, was when he was trying to convince me that the most humane thing to do would be to drown Heisenberg:

"Remember how the people died on the Titanic?  It's a peaceful way to go."

I could hear my mom laughing from the other room.

Anyway, shaking and wincing and crying my way through it, I picked up the mouse trap and quickly lowered Heisenberg, head first, into the water-filled Tupperware container.  It all went so fast.  My parents simultaneously launched into rapid-fire questioning:

Do you have the lid on it?
Do you have a plastic bag to put it in?
Is the lid on yet?
Do you have your keys?
Are you headed downstairs to the garbage?
Do you have your keys?
Is he dead?
Ugh, yes, I just looked him in the eyes.
Why did you look him in the eyes??
I KILLED HIM. I HAVE TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYES.
Is he dead?
Yes. His eyes were definitely dead.
Dad: This is a big step for you. I'm proud.

Post-humous texts from my parents include the following:

Texts from Mom:

Text 1: Glad the mouse hunt is over.  Good job!
Text 2: Mariel caught the mouse and got rid of him... She's somewhat traumatized.
Text 3: I meant to send to Nick and sent to you ;)
Text 4: Hope you got a glass of wine! I did!

Texts from Dad:

In conclusion, here is my dedication to Heisenberg.  Hope you're eating peanut butter in a better place now.