Mouse-trap.

Our apartment has mice. They're fairly polite - they don't come out and scare me or eat the bread we store on top of the microwave. They stay in one particular cupboard and only occasionally make noise enough to prevent me from denying their existence. I've been ignoring them because a) I don't want them to exist and it seems a good way to go about things and b) we're moving. soon. and I'm putting off all unpleasant jobs in this house until I no longer live here and don't have to do them. 

That is until yesterday when Jeremy produced mousetraps I didn't know we had and decided to catch them. What follows is an instant-messaging conversation and the drama that ensued.

 me:  I think we may have just attempted to trap a mouse...

 Jeremy:  what do you mean?

 me:  I heard the trap go.And I don't want to find out

 Jeremy:  oh yeah?  I emptied it this morn

 me:  serious? ugh

 Jeremy:  yeah

 me:  please PLEASE can we make an offer this week?????

 Jeremy:  theres a plastic bag with a mouse outside teh door. Ha.

 me:  nice

... (10 minutes or so pass)

Jeremy:  did you check the mousetrap?

 me:  nope. Because if I check it and it has a dead mouse in it, I'll have to do something about it and I really
don't want to

 Jeremy:  you just lift the spring

 me:  right but there's a dead mouse underneath it. I don't like dead animals much

 Jeremy:  me either

 me:  no but they're yours.

 Jeremy:  why

 me:  I'm not sure but they are

 me:  I didn't set the traps

 Jeremy:  I did because of you

 me:  no you did because you got fed up of losing chickpeas.I was perfectly happy pretending that I didn't  know they were there but now there's a dead one so I can't do that anymore.

The conversation ends there but in my head I know that there's a dead mouse in the chickpea cupboard.  There are cans and stuff in there too, but I'm guessing the mouse was mostly interested in the dried chickpeas, of which there are many. I steel myself and go and look in the cupboard. Sure enough there's a mouse in the trap. What I wasn't prepared for was quite how mouse-like it looked, or how big its eyes were. 

What follows is a comedic and stereotypically female response involving rubber gloves, a phone call to Jeremy, tears (of sadness for the mouse, illogical fear for me and hilarity, all rolled into one) and much hopping to and fro. I cover the mouse with a shroud (made of kitchen towel) so that I don't have to look at it and attempt to release it from the trap and into its grave (made of a plastic bag outside the back door...Jeremy's earlier mouse is also in it so it's fast becoming a mass grave). Cue more hopping, heart racing, tears and one bit where I thought it wasn't completely dead and dropped it on the floor. Eventually I get it together and deposit the mouse into the bag and wash my hands about 10 times. 

I do not reset the trap.