Killing mice and men A shupimta column by Chris Jungle
I had mice in my house. Sometimes right before going to bed, I would see one running across the floor. During the night, every sound around my bed was from a blasted mouse. I knew the mice were just waiting for me to show a sign of weakness when they could jump on my face and chew out my eyes. The mice caused me fear. This lead me to purchase Weapons of Mouse Destruction.
My friendly and local Wal-mart offered two main options for killing my small yet dangerous foe--death by mousetrap and death by poison. What is the proper way to kill an enemy? Is it best to put a tasty treat on a triggered plate which springs a wire and snaps their neck? Or is it more appropriate to offer a great tasting poison which will eat them away from the inside out? Age-old questions which have been debated throughout time.
I went with the four pack of cheap mousetraps at a buck-29. Four were the least amount of traps anyone could buy, so I bought four.
It felt good to purchase the weapons. I had four deathtraps at my disposal. Weapons to rid me of my dreaded haunting enemy. They weren't going to claw out my eyes.
I immediately tore open the package and spilled the traps onto the counter in a clatter. A little audible warning to the varmints of their imminent fate. Looking at the wire, wood and spring, I realized I had no idea how to put the trap into commission. I peaked back at the packaging to read the instructions. Half the words were in English and half in French. That made me feel good. Nobody made better or more graphic death mechanisms than the French.
After setting the trap incorrectly, I figured out how to properly set the weapon. It all came down to bolting it properly. Doesn't everything come down to bolting it properly?
Traps were placed in four strategic places. One behind the washer, one behind the dryer, one close to the stove, and one close to the refrigerator. For some reason, I thought they hung out by the big appliances. A cracker was placed on the wood section to woo the long tailed menace into its destiny.
Night One was a complete disaster. The beasts nabbed all of the crackers and not one trap was sprung. The enemy was one step ahead. Those crafty, pesky eye clawers.
After much debate and strategical rethinking, it was decided that peanut butter would be the new lure. Two traps received a dousing of peanut butter directly on the spring bolt. The other two would have also have peanut butter on the spring bolt but in addition would have crackers on top to mask the trap's essential workings. The defense council stayed up late to devise this tactic.
Within an hour of recallobrating the weapons, the trap by the refrigerator went off with a loud snap. It was of the cracker and peanut butter variety. Again, the mice were too quick. Cracker pieces were scattered across the floor, and the weapon lay useless.
Could the enemy truly defeat my forces? Were they too crafty for neck breaking? Thoughts spun around my head on how to attain funds in the budget for rat poison. I was on the verge of needing more weapons.
Before a defense meeting was called to order, another trap went off. It was the straight peanut butter job behind the washer, and a two inch mouse lay with its head cocked back, no longer a conscious part of this world. A victory! Death to the vermin! The tide had turned my way.
Celebrations of the first kill were still going on when the trap by the stove announced itself. A cracker variety weapon. Forces reported another two inch mouse dead and laying in its own feces. It was working. My eyes felt safe. I was winning.
After the second kill, the traps went silent. Jubilant festivities went on into the night without another trap going off. Another trap never went off.
The troops reported no more mouse sightings and were beginning to admit that they may have grossly overestimated the enemy's forces. Two mice. Two mice put the fear into my eyes. A couple beady-eyed long tails forced me to buy weapons in hopes of blasting their kind into the netherworld.
The funny thing is that it worked, and I feel better. I'm glad the mice are gone. They weren't going to cause me anything but trouble. They weren't paying rent. They weren't serving any purpose to me but fear. And now they're gone. I won. They lost.
Does this have anything to do with Iraq?
Chris Jungle still has a loaded, peanut butter-only trap behind the dryer.