The mouse hunt

All so cryptic and cruel. I pulled into the garage to discover the first kill of the non-live mouse traps. A hunter would call it a clean kill as the mouse lay sideways across the trap, broken spine indicating its final moments. Eyes popped from its skull…I sat there holding the trap, mouse installed and began to ponder the ethics involved…bloody hell.

We bait the trap, we wait. We anxiously check it from time to time. The live traps lay half cocked, telling me that a baby mouse had entered, stole the food, and made haste. Fucker…I killed his mom and dad, and brother, you know. Baby mouse pups left to fend for themselves in a shitty world of hope filled dreams that only end in heartbreak and death.

All in all the basic function of it all begins to haunt me. How many times have I been lead to something so enticing it belies the trap it is contained in. Trying to get the cheese without the squeeze is as common in America as porn and fried chicken…

Its interesting to know that mice don’t seem to care about dead mice. Hell, they’d eat the bait right off the trap after another mouse lost its life in front of it. Is this the noble hunt for survival or the desolate reality of life? Can it be both without losing any impact? What have we learned as humans from their wisdom.

Clearly nothing, I say to myself as I spring the trap, the dead furry creature falls an eternity into a bag of garbage, and lays there belly-up staring into my very soul. Along with his fallen comrades they peer unknowingly into the soul of their destroyer, one last and significant victory before their tale comes to an end.

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