The Tail End
I like mice. Really, I do.
I like Gus and Jaq from Disney's Cinderella. In fact, I used to like them so much that my mom bought me tiny figurines of the duo and I used to sleep with them in my bed ... until I woke up one morning and realized that Jaq's head popped off.
I like Fievel Mousekewitz, the Russian mouse who immigrated to the United States in An American Tail on the unfounded belief that there are no cats in America and the streets are paved with cheese.
I can even mildly tolerate Pinky and The Brain, even though The Brain looks more like a bull dog than an actual rodent.
And I used to watch Speedy Gonzales, the fastest mouse in alllllll of Mexico ... when there was nothing else on TV.
But you know what kind of mouse I don't like? The kind of mouse that lives in my apartment for five months, poops in my microwave and then, as a final "Screw you, Courtney!", does me the disservice of dying under my oven.
Our mouse is finally dead.
And do you wanna know how I found out?
Our kitchen started smelling like a rotted corpse.
I noticed it on Monday and thought for sure the smell was coming from our garbage disposal because the stupid thing is constantly clogged (Clay insists it's always my fault too because I tend to toss potato peels down there, and he claims that's bad for the disposal. I also tend not to listen to him because when it does clog, I'm never the one that has to clean it out. So I don't care.) But when I stuck my face in the sink, it actually didn't have an odor emitting from the drain (for the first time ever?). So I put 2 and 2 together, got 5, had to recheck my math, eventually got 4, and deduced that the smell had to be coming from somewhere else in the kitchen.
Clay called me when he got home from work (his new job has him coming home at 4 p.m. now) and I asked him to take on the unfortunate task of finding the source of the putrid smell in the kitchen. He called me back, not even fine minutes later, and said, "I found the smell."
That furry little butthead finally wandered into one of the traps we laid down months ago, snapped his neck, and started to decay for goodness knows how long. Clay removed the mouse (I ask that he spare me the icky details and not tell me what the crime scene looked like), tied it up in a plastic bag, and set it outside our front door to serve as a warning to other mice who might be thinking of moving in (I suggested he put the mouse's head on a toothpick for a more dramatic effect).
As glad as I am to be rid of the mouse, I have to admit that I am kind of bummed about the whole thing. When he first appeared as a visitor in our bathtub all those many weeks ago, I thought he was adorable and worth removing from our home with care. When he started eating my food and leaving his little "presents" everywhere, he suddenly became slightly less cute ... but he was still a living creature who was just trying to survive like everyone else.
But that jerk did cost me a microwave.