I’m listening to a mouse die right now, as I write this. I’m living at my dad’s at the moment and he put a trap in my room. Two weeks ago it began stinking like all hell and I thought it was my trash. I tied it up and tossed it and it went away. It wasn’t the trash though. It turns out the trap got a mouse and it had died and fleas were crawling all over it. It had been sitting for days and I had no idea.

            So now, as I sit here figuring out what to do with my orphaned site, I hear the trap go off. It was about 4-5 minutes ago now. But instead of running over, I returned to my laptop and try focusing again. A minute goes by, and I hear a sound. It’s the mouse, still alive, trying to break free. I sit back now as I can no longer focus on my site. I wait, and it goes away, so once again I try to return to working. But there it is again. I sigh. It won’t go away. I wish it would go away already. It’s not frightening, but I’m not doing anything about it. I can’t bring myself to get up, and go over, and poke my head beyond the boxes, and look down in the darkness and see a mouse in a trap. It freaks me out.

            Now, mice don’t scare me. I know, “right” you’re thinking. But no, I was in an apartment, and we had an infestation! I mean a REAL infestation. The building was over 100 years in the world and there were large holes around the radiators and where other things used to be. These guys had free reign. I found one day hordes of mice crap on some shelves I hadn’t been frequenting in a while. It was bad. I would walk into the kitchen, and they’d run right to left on the floor underneath the window. Once or so was bearable, but these suckers got ballsy. Long story short, I caught one as I had held a cup with granola in it up to the shelf it was on. It got to the point where they wouldn’t even RUN when we came in the room. I couldn’t bear to kill it though, or at least witness it die. So as it was in the cup, I taped it shut and tossed it outside in the trash. Who knew if It lived or not. I moved out shortly after. Another time I caught one in a friend’s kitchen in a cup; Didn’t kill that one either. We ran it down the street to terrorize someone else, Or freeze, whichever came first.

            But back to the mouse.

            I’m not scared of mice. But the thought of looking and finding some horrible scene is what gives me the willys. I don’t know what it is. It’s that itchy-jumpy feeling you get when there’s a wasp in the room, or a spider on you. It’s long gone, but you still feel every little touch of your skin makes you twitch and freak out. Not one aspect of what might happen is too bad, but I know I can’t bring myself to look. What if I looked and it’s got it’s head half-cut off and it’s still wriggling around trying to break free? Yea it’s only a mouse, but damn you have to give it credit. It was only doing what mice do. I hate them as much as anyone else, they ruin your stuff and make a mess. But there’s less lethal ways of dealing with them. Even while still killing them. So instead, I sit here in stiff silence, wondering what to do, or not to do. While it clings to life. I feel bad a bit. Not because it’s a life taken, I mean, I’d like to think I’m a bit harder in that aspect, but in the assertion sense. I feel guilty because I know I should be doing something, ANYTHING, but I’m not and I won’t…

It’s done now, most likely dead. Sometime during my writing this, it rattled some more around in the trap, then stopped for a while, then one last rap and that’s been it for about 10 minutes now. It’s dead. I’m still not looking though. Not because it’s dead, but because it’s maimed, gross-looking, I’d feel the need to take care of it. I will wake tomorrow and know my dad will probably do it when I mention it. Immature? Probably. If I was alone, I would take care of it sure. My manliness overrides my fears of whatever might happen and I shut off all emotion and take care of it; Daddy Long Legs, bees, mice, moths, other insects. Alone, I’m a girl and would like nothing more than to avoid it and pretend it’s not there as long as it hasn’t got the ability to touch me, but with another there to impress, I wouldn’t think twice.

            So instead, before bed, I write this. Well before it died I thought of this. I was slaving over what the heck to do with my website that I hastily bought a month ago now, and have done little with, so hearing the trap, I immediately found it inspiring. I used the slow, painful death of this mouse to further my egotistical exploits into writing stories and blog-like posts, to which few may read. Personal gains, an increase in self-esteem, and ego, that’s what I gained from this death.

          What does that say about society?