Now that my tenant has moved out, with his cats, I have a mouse problem. I keep all of my stufff in jars in the cupboards, so there's not much for them to eat, but they leave droppings and do things like eat entire boxes of crayons, and certain places in my house are just starting to smell like...mouse.
Bonita is not a mouser; no front claws, can't see very well, etc. I saw a mouse run across the living room and she kind of trotted after it, looking interested. That's it. So I bought mousetraps. I set 2 of them today. And tonight, as I was relaxing on the couch with Bonita, I heard the trap under the sink snap. And then 3 or 4 thumps. And then silence.
It was so, so, horrible. I mean, I set the trap to kill a mouse but the sound of it happening? It was too much. Bonita looked alarmed, trying to figure out why I was so agitated. I was literally sniffling and whimpering and not wanting to look under the sink.
I looked under the sink. The trap wasn't exactly where I'd put it, which made it more horrible, and I couldn't see the mouse at first, but there it was, little and fuzzy and gray and [I think] dead. I closed the cupboard door and lay on the floor and bawled. Finally I pulled myself together but I just can't take the trap out tonight. I'm not a mouser either, I guess.
When B. and I were dating, we drowned a baby possum he had caught in a trap. A whole family was living in his garage walls. It seemed the humane thing to do since releasing a baby possum somewhere in the country would just kill it slowly. But I still think about it and get sad. I know, I know, they chew wires and it's dangerous but still I hate having to kill things.
I'm sure there is a huge mouse family living in my house and I've just killed one mouse. The thought of having to do it however many more times is making me start to cry again. But the thought of getting used to killing, even mice, is scary too. Like part of me would have to die to be able to do it without feeling anything.
Blech.