Since last evening, I am responsible for eight deaths, and I feel only slightly guilty.
We have been overrun by mice. I believe part of it is the construction at the corners, as about five acres of the rodents' natural habitat is now gone. However, part of it is the animal feed we have been keeping in the garage, and part is also the death of Fuzzy, our neighbor's cat, who was an excellent huntress although abundantly challenged in the intelligence department.
Anyway, yesterday morning, I set a trap in the garage and caught the mother mouse. When I got home from work, I found my youngest two standing in the driveway, staring at the back wall of the garage, where these darling tiny baby mice were running frantically around, looking for Mom. My stomach squinched up at the thought of what I'd done and at the panic those babies must have been feeling. I suppose I have been reading too much children's literature, which features mice and other vermin in charming illustrations.
Rocky said, "They're so CUTE...but think of the diseases." He had a point.
I determined the location of the nest and guiltily pulled it out of the garage, which displaced the babies even further. Then I set two mouse traps and closed the garage door. After a while, I heard that dreaded snap, and opened the door to find three small corpses. I donned latex gloves, and I pulled the bar off the trap after covering the bodies, shuddering as I released them into a plastic bag for disposal. Despite my guilt, I set the traps again, only to discover four dead this morning, three more babies and an adult.
Much to my horror, I have adopted a cold, calculating attitude about this situation. I gazed right at the fuzzy gray bodies and thought, "Good--fewer adults to invade us" as I threw the remains into the field for the fox and coyote. And I again reset the traps before going to work.
To make matters worse, I am stopping on the way home to buy yet more traps.
I guess this means war--Stuart Little had better watch out.