So the dramas of my first apartment lead to a story for my final project in my course. My roommate, Sheila (a.k.a. Chiatar), agrees that this is pretty true to the actual hunt. I left out some details, like trying to suffocate the mouse in a peanut butter jar (we wanted it to go out happy) or my moral dilemma over killing something that looked like my pet gerbil, Doodle. I also left out the fact that just after we gave a toast to our fallen enemy (we did what any good Irish-American would do at a funeral: we drank to the dead), we caught another, and then another a couple days later.
As a warning: I apologize for the swears if you're sensitive to that but it needed to be done. It was the only way to get the hatred we had for this mouse across. (Sorry, Mom)
It was a harsh lesson to learn but c'est la vie. We at least put them outside so the locals cats could enjoy them (they didn't though >.<). I used ink pens on bristol.
