eek a mouse
There's a mouse in my office.
I don't know exactly where, but he keeps on squeaking so I know he hasn't gone away. I'm pretty sure the little guy is somewhere between the stacks and binders by my officemate's desk.
Did he get himself stuck somewhere? I'm not sure. But he stops talking everytime i get near him, so i can't help him.
Sigh....
It's almost 9pm and I'm stuck at the office. I just want to get stuff done as soon as possible please (!!!) so that I can get home. The way I see it, the only thing between me and a nice, warm bed (not to mention that last episode of the Lost on DVD) is a nod from my boss and a ten minute cab ride. But to get to old "okay" from my boss, I need to finish up my presentation... And the only thing getting in between me and my presentation is this damn mouse. He keeps chirping like he's in distress.
"Don't mice only squeak when they're stuck in a trap or something?" said Paul (just now on the phone).
Yeah, that's what I thought too.
---
The last time I saw a mouse in a trap was sophomore year of college.
We had a mouse living in our house, which we named "Frederick" and more or less tolerated over the summer. But soon, one Frederick became two Fredericks and then a couple of Fredericks, which we decided was not a good thing. Finding mouse droppings in the kitchen doesn't really equal sanitary eating conditions.
Before we could investigate into buying more humane traps, one of our roommates set out sticky glue traps to catch the guys without warning any of us.
So of course, much to my bewilderment, I came home one day to find two mice squeaking at the top of their lungs from behind my toaster oven, their feet stuck to a trap, blood everywhere because they had been trying to chew their legs off to get away. I was so frazzled, my first inclination was to just toss them in a brown bag and throw them out the trash.
But Caroline (who has always been so much more practical and thoughtful than me) came home and pointed out that it would be awful to just throw them out and condemn them to dying a very slow death. So she took them outside and killed them as humanely as she could (I think with a glass bottle)...
A few minutes later, Caroline came back in the house obviously shaken up, with tears running down her face. And I remember being so awestruck at seeing that particular image of my best friend, the mixture of kindness and strength and compassion in her face that made her so human and so beautiful.
---
Okay, so it's now nine thirty and the mouse has stopped squeaking. I'm not sure if I should go try to find him again, but I kind of feel like I should and give him a proper burial.
To be continued...
I don't know exactly where, but he keeps on squeaking so I know he hasn't gone away. I'm pretty sure the little guy is somewhere between the stacks and binders by my officemate's desk.
Did he get himself stuck somewhere? I'm not sure. But he stops talking everytime i get near him, so i can't help him.
Sigh....
It's almost 9pm and I'm stuck at the office. I just want to get stuff done as soon as possible please (!!!) so that I can get home. The way I see it, the only thing between me and a nice, warm bed (not to mention that last episode of the Lost on DVD) is a nod from my boss and a ten minute cab ride. But to get to old "okay" from my boss, I need to finish up my presentation... And the only thing getting in between me and my presentation is this damn mouse. He keeps chirping like he's in distress.
"Don't mice only squeak when they're stuck in a trap or something?" said Paul (just now on the phone).
Yeah, that's what I thought too.
---
The last time I saw a mouse in a trap was sophomore year of college.
We had a mouse living in our house, which we named "Frederick" and more or less tolerated over the summer. But soon, one Frederick became two Fredericks and then a couple of Fredericks, which we decided was not a good thing. Finding mouse droppings in the kitchen doesn't really equal sanitary eating conditions.
Before we could investigate into buying more humane traps, one of our roommates set out sticky glue traps to catch the guys without warning any of us.
So of course, much to my bewilderment, I came home one day to find two mice squeaking at the top of their lungs from behind my toaster oven, their feet stuck to a trap, blood everywhere because they had been trying to chew their legs off to get away. I was so frazzled, my first inclination was to just toss them in a brown bag and throw them out the trash.
But Caroline (who has always been so much more practical and thoughtful than me) came home and pointed out that it would be awful to just throw them out and condemn them to dying a very slow death. So she took them outside and killed them as humanely as she could (I think with a glass bottle)...
A few minutes later, Caroline came back in the house obviously shaken up, with tears running down her face. And I remember being so awestruck at seeing that particular image of my best friend, the mixture of kindness and strength and compassion in her face that made her so human and so beautiful.
---
Okay, so it's now nine thirty and the mouse has stopped squeaking. I'm not sure if I should go try to find him again, but I kind of feel like I should and give him a proper burial.
To be continued...