I killed a mouse. After I did it, I realized it was the first time I have ever killed anything resembling a human being in any way.
Oh yeah, there's been roaches, ants, earwigs (they have nasty pinchers and crawl in your eay and eat your brain! totally true!), caterpillars, flowers, grass, carrots and assorted vegetables, the basic things that would upset your local buddhists and crazy vegetarians.
But really, the farmers and grocery store clerks are responsible for those vegetables, and until bugs build their own little bug cities not in my house- well, thats trespassing, and totally within my rights to slaughter as protected by the Goverment of the United States.
I really have killed something that was undeniably alive and had conciousness.
At three o'damn clock this morning, I woke up to Princess Furry Face AKA Schmoolios trying to lift up my huge trunk filled with shoes, using her tiny little mutant double paws.
I go over, thinking she effing lost a tinfoil ball or something, lift it up, and she leaps over it, to the other side, and goes nuts! Scrabbling around, sniffing like she might die if she didn't snif snif snif every inch of the floor.
I thought, oh shit. A mouse. Shit.
And I suddenly noticed all the piles of crap in that corner. You know how girls have collections of bags? Just regular old shopping bags? Bags folded up all neat inside another bag... Why can't we throw that shit away? Dudes don't keep every last Gap bag, but apparently my ovaries just scream, "OUR FUTURE BABY NEEDS AN EXPRESS BAG WITH CORD HANDLES!" and therefore, I keep a pile of them, next to various other piles of random things.
So I start cautiously poking at things, lifting them up, hoping desperately that it either runs away or the cat gets to it first. Because what the fuck am I going to do with a mouse? Part of me really wanted to just say eff it, and go back to bed. The cat was on it's trail, its about time she started helping more around the house.
But then I remembered that I have roommates and a responsibility to protect and preserve my large stash of snacks, so I kept half-heartedly poking.
Then, I saw it. I stalled. I hesitated. I waited for the damn thing to see me seeing it and run away. I even grabbed the cat and sort of waved it at that stupid mouse- but niether the mouse nor my cat saw each other.
I thought- I'll catch it and throw it off the porch. Then, it either lives or dies depending on gravitational pull, acceleration, air resistance, and the variable of a soft cushy landing or cold hard dirt.
So, I pick up my pretty little chrome trashcan and bring it down over the mouse.
And I sit there for about two seconds, wondering how I'm going to get it out of the inverted can to the porch, when I lean over slightly (placing most of my body weight on the can) and see that I only caught HALF THE MOUSE. And the half that was free was still attached and moving! But the other half was dead!
I didn't know what to do! Do I stomp on it? Do I squeeze it? Do I lift the can and let it drag itself away to die someplace not in front of me? Let the cat finish it off?
And then I realize that I've wasted another two seconds while this mouse is in agony. Four seconds of agony. And the only thing I can do is kill this mouse.
So I did. I killed it and watched it die.
In the light of day, I don't feel as terrible about it-- especially after my roommate reasonably suggested that mice are basically the bugs of the mammal world- but its still terrible to remember killing it and watching it die as I killed it, because I had to make sure it actually died in order to do the right thing for that mouse that I killed.
Also, found out that I have the beginnings of carpal tunnel syndrom. And thats the only conclusion I can give you.