Of Mice and Men
orThe Mouse Trap
@1999 by Joseph P Infranco all rights reserved
It all started innocently enough when Clarence, one of our cats, ran across the floor with a mouse in his mouth. Who could have imagined it would become a debate on morality and ethics? My wife let out a yell, a kind of whoop, when Clarence proudly dropped his prey near her feet, awaiting whatever approbation his hunting prowess merited. My daughter, freshly filled with ideas on discarding gender characterizations, retreated to a stereotypical jumping on a chair while demanding that I "do something!" In the ensuing confusion I felt the need to, well, do something, but froze on a course of action. Clarence seemed to have the matter well in hand, and my first thought was to let him finish the job. Besides, earning his keep might improve his standing on the homestead. And Clarence did seem to be on top of the situation; sitting sphinx- like, he batted the tiny limp grey figure with a paw, trying to coax a response in a literal cat and mouse game.
Suddenly the mouse jumped to life, abandoning the natural defense of its dissembled demise, and scampered toward the basement door. Clarence was up in a flash, but his declawed paws were no match for the rodent. Someone, my wife or daughter, let out a groan as the mouse squeezed under the door to safety. I began earnest preparations for the accusations that would surely follow, viz., that I had failed to "do something".
It took only a little thought to see the obvious solution was to employ mousetraps. I recalled mice of past acquaintance, but these were pleasant little rodents locked up in cages in science or psychology halls. We had even given a few affectionate nicknames. Our current lodger, insignificant under other circumstances, was now a pest, having crossed the lines of decency and propriety. Past contributions of his kin in the halls of science could not excuse this breach of protocol. The mouse was an uninvited intruder, out of the maze, and my sworn enemy.
The local hardware store had a smaller selection of mouse traps than I had anticipated. "Best thing to do is poison em", said a wrinkled man working in the department. "That way they take it to the babies and get them too." A neighbor on the street disagreed, warning that the mice could die in the walls or some other inopportune place and stink. I abandoned the poison idea, which made me a little uncomfortable anyway. Excluding the toxic approach left two or three basic mousetrap designs. The easiest seemed to be a piece of cardboard coated with glue and a few pellets of bait. The trap was to be placed snug against the wall molding, where I was assured mice like to travel in their nightly excursions. Once stuck, the rest was easy. I chose the closed box variation, not so much because I didn't want to see my victim, but more because it seemed appropriately private, and a better place to come to one s end. My friend Ted noticed the boxes and protested intensely. "Those boxes are horrible and inhumane" he objected. Once stuck, he explained, the mouse would writhe to get free, ripping its skin and fur. The explanation sounded plausible enough to explore alternatives. What did he recommend? "Your old- fashioned traps are still the best", he replied with the authority of a grizzled veteran of many mouse wars. "You break their necks quick and easy", and he snapped his fingers for effect, either alluding to the speed of execution or perhaps in macabre mimic of the death snap.
His comments left me puzzled and confused. In the search for the proverbial better mousetrap, which would bring the world to your doorstep, was it possible that no one had invented a better mousetrap? Aside from this, should I really care about a mouse s pain any more than a mosquito s? The idea smacked of mammalian chauvinism. Another acquaintance made this suggestion: find a trap that would catch the mouse live, and release it in the nearby woods. This seemed a lot of bother, beside which it was the dead of winter and a peaceful blanket of snow already covered the ground. Releasing the mouse was a death sentence anyway, and possibly slow and cruel. Yet, I wondered, was this my problem? As far as mice went, the world was divided into two categories: those inside and those outside my house. Returning the intruder to his former environment was a sort of status quo. Surely, no more was owed than that. Anyway, nobody sold such traps, confirming my belief that it must be a stupid idea.
I thought of the time we found shredded newspaper near a dining room drawer. I pulled out the drawer and lifted it fully out of its station, revealing a cozy nest packed with thin ribbons of newspaper and cloth in the few inches below the drawer. The nest had five or six tiny newborn mice, pink and hairless, laying completely still. I felt a mixture of repulsion and sympathy for the totally helpless creatures, as I lifted the nest out and dropped the entire bundle in the trash. There was a little sense of that now, knowing that instincts drove mice to find warmth and security for their coming babies. It is, after all, an instinct we share with them, and a source of our distress for the homeless. Even the beloved Christmas story tells us of the mother of God settling for a stable, the only available source of warmth, to prepare for her coming child. Mice in our midst are acceptable only in cages, and homeless people in shelters. All those on the outside, both mice and men, become the worst sort of intruder when they enter our sanctuaries unbidden. We do not want to see them or deal with them any more than is necessary.
In the end, I settled for the little box with the baited glue floor. I placed the traps at likely locations and waited, but never saw a mouse again. Perhaps it escaped from the basement the same way it entered the house, or found a secluded spot out of view. I was glad to not see or think about mice again.