14 year old ManChild wanders out into living room, eyes big: Uh...I was leaving my bedroom door open so my room would be warmer and a mouse just ran in.
Brad just grins and keeps prepping dinner.
Me: Are you sure? Where did it go? Where did it come from? Show me!
ManChild and I walk into his room which looks like a bomb has gone off in it, as usual: It came from this way and ran in. It went toward my bathroom so I...
We both look at each other with big eyes.
Me: You heard that right?
I slowly and quietly sneeeeeeak into ManChild's bathroom and hear it again,
Me in a whisper: Come here! I think it's in the trashcan!
ManChild sneaks in behind me, looking like he's ready to sprint off at a moment's notice.
Me: Ok, go get me a kitchen trash bag and we'll just put it over the top and flip the trash into it.
ManChild disappears to tell Brad and from the kitchen I hear Brad say, "Ohhhh no, I'm retired and doing the cooking! SHE'S the one working so she gets to handle a mouse!" and then a bunch of man laughter lol :-)
ManChild reappears with the bag. I shake it out and put it over the top of the trashcan and then tip the trashcan over sideways and THERE IT IS! Sitting inside of a dry and very tall Chik Fil A drink cup.
I'm thinking: Ok, well maybe I can just take that cup outside—when that mouse suddenly LEAPS straight up out of the cup and disappears!
ManChild bolts out of the bathroom.
I manage to pick up the bag and slide the trashcan the rest of the way in before the mouse escapes.
We take it out to Brad in the kitchen who is still chortling away over both his funny and the screams he was hearing.
Me: Well now what?
Brad: I guess take it outside and let it go.
Me: Yeah. I don't think I can kill it, that would be awful.
ManChild: Mom! You can't have empathy over EVERYTHING.
Me: Of course you can!
ManChild: I'll just go get my shoe.
Me: Your sneaker is not going to kill this mouse. They have actual structure, actual bones. It's not like killing a bug.
When I was married to the Bad Man (my ex) he and his brother would put on their combat boots and go into their grandma's barn loft and stomp mice to death. (That right there should have told me something about him) It takes hard shoes and force to kill something that size. You'd be very upset if you did.
ManChild: Ok. But we can't have mice in the house!
Me: Of course not! We will set traps in the downstairs garage (which we are currently using as a barn so there is horse and goat food down there—our bedrooms are above it) at least they will be killed quickly. Ugh.
So, to kill or not to kill? They obviously cannot live in my home! I wish I had a cat. Maybe this summer we will adopt a couple feral cats from the Humane Society for mousers. But in the meantime does anyone have any no kill options? I guess I could do a humane trap and relocate...
I mean look at that face!
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