The Emotional Progression Of Catching A Mouse

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Mouse killing: a brutal and frightening experience. I love all creatures, so exterminating the pathetic nuisance of a creature, such as a mouse, is an emotional one. There are many phases.

Phase One: The initial reaction.

This entails freaking out when you see the pesky rodent scurrying across your floor. Many emotions come out...

My baby crawls on these floors; he could get sick! ...  A mouse in the house! There must be a battalion of them waiting to eat all of our food!... Mouse droppings! Disgusting! ... It's going to crawl in my bed while I'm sleeping! Eeeep!

Phase Two: The eviction plan.

Now feeling brave and determined to claim back your living space from the mouse, crawling in tight quarters to ascertain exactly where the mouse is coming from is the first step. Once said entry point is spotted, mouse traps need to be set. If you are like me, you set the humane ones with the pendulum action that traps them in a little plastic box. Realizing they don't work (they really don't, so don't even waste your money), you get to setting the old wooden ones. Frustration and pain might accompany this step, especially if you are a brainiac like me and take an hour to set them because you can't quite get it to latch and keep screaming every time it snaps. I tell you, these stupid things are worse than a jack in the box. The suspense of knowing whether or not it is going to click this time or possibly decapitate your finger is excruciating.

Finally, two hours later, the traps are set with peanut butter and now you wait.

Phase Three: The clean up.

This stage is the worst. Upon walking into the room to find mouse brains squished on the trap, with its lifeless body defeatedly laying there, the sadness and fear make an appearance in the form of a blood curdling scream. You think, I just killed Ratatouille. We could have become life long buddies and cooked up French cuisine in Julia Child form.

Once you overcome the fact there is a dead rodent in your house, the next step is summoning the courage to rid the thing. This is the toughest part for me. Something about a dangling dead rat tail really causes an extreme freak out session. So much, that I will do every other household task in an effort to avoid that room. Then there is the consideration of letting your baby crawl over to it, so there is no other choice than to let the mother bear instincts kick in and save your child from a terrible case of rabies.

Phase Four: Triumph!

Pat yourself on the back. Bake yourself a cake. Make yourself a card. You did it. You evicted that mouse like an angry landlord kicking a non-paying tenant to the curb. You can do anything!

Phase Five: Uh-oh.

Freak out all over again, because if there is one, there are definitely more. Good luck!