Killing the Mouse

My daughter’s eyes were huge

pointing into our garage and 

claiming she saw a mouse.

We thought she’d seen one

scamper across the concrete

but there it was, sitting still,

eyes closed and not moving.

Something must be wrong as

it tolerated our movements 

getting closer and closer to it.

I put the mouse trap in front

of it and pushed it with a stick.

The mouse sniffed it a bit but

did not try and get the food.

Something was definitely wrong

with this mouse, but how were

we to get it out of the garage?

I’d seen its droppings in the 

past few days behind the freezer

like tiny bits of charcoal and ash.

My eyes swept around the garage

and fastened on my combat boots

sitting dusty and unused by the door.

I told the kids to move out of sight

while I put on the boot and tied it up.

The mouse’s back was to me as I

quietly clomped forward in my boot.

It did not seem to know I was there

even as I raised my foot over its

small furry form, lost in some reverie.

I hesitated, my son peeked around

the corner, “Go away,” I said as 

his curious smile receded out of sight.

I hesitated, hoping it would run away.

But when it did not I took a deep breath 

and brought down the boot hard.

I gave it a moment or two and it did 

not move or squirm beneath the sole.

No wonder.  Under my boot I found

intestines and little white bean-shapes 

that I am sure were its kidneys.

This was the second lethargic mouse

in our garage likely poisoned elsewhere.

But it didn’t make it any easier to know

that the mouse was surely on the way out.

Tomorrow I will have to force myself to 
take our dog of 15 years to the vet to be 
put to sleep.  She has suffered long enough.

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