Monday, March 11, 2013

The Mouse War. Part Three.

After the mouse charged me down, bitched me, and officially contested me for psychological ownership of the Coop, he became a rather cocky son of a bitch.

Night after night, I spilled food, vacuumed what I could, failed obviously, and began to encounter him constantly. He was annoyingly audacious and became increasingly more so with each human sighting. It felt as if each time I saw, and allowed him to live, it boosted his rodent defiance and assurance that I was a big helpless pussy. I probably just need more self esteem, but for some reason dealing with this squeaking, beady-eyed foe made me unreasonably furious. I sensed that every time we met he could feel the waves of anger emanating from my body, and by showing his face with such blatant consistence he was intentionally trying to drive me insane.  I continued to wait for the poison to work for a few weeks but it never did. I even mixed some delicious trail mix with the poison in a desperate ploy to trick the mouse into picking the wrong, fatal nut. They picked each and every nut, m&m and raisin out and seemingly took not one pellet of green poison. God damn it.

My sanity had begun a notable decline when I had my first victory of the War. I was eating a family size bag of Pop chips one day and finished the entire thing, leaving only a few unworthy crumbs behind. I'm an admitted glutton, but those eating those chips is like chasing the fucking dragon, you literally cannot stop until they're gone; then you psychotically crave and fantasize about them for days. Being the moderate slob that I am, I left the large, empty bag of pops chips on the floor all the next day as I went about my business. When I got back to the coop that evening, I started to watch tv when I heard a strange crumpling noise. I squinted my eyes in suspicion and looked in the usual rodent hot zones. Nothing. So I kept watching tv. I heard the noise again and looked around, again. Nothing, again. I sat there listening, baffled. The crumpling was consistent but barely audible. Then I happen to glance down into the upright bag of pops sitting on the floor by my feet. And who the fuck do I see down there? A crumb eating, pestilent little mouse bastard. He looked up at me and must've known the severity of his situation. Apparently as much a glutton as I, he greedily climbed down into the Pop crumb heaven, too blinded by the orgasmic deliciousness of the crumbs to consider an escape route. He didn't know my arrival would mean his certain demise. My lips twisted into a deranged smile. A feeling of what must've been schadenfreude washed over my body and I snapped the bag closed. With neither a word nor a hesitation, I stood up, threw open the door of the Coop and marched barefoot out into the cold. I walked down to the edge of our pond. Patches of ice floated on the surface. I was sure this would be as quick a death as any. I hesitated. The mouse sat very still in the bag. He was unsure of his fate, but I know he was confident that my overwhelming dimwittedness would lead to an eventual escape. Probably even soon enough so he could go spite shit those Pop crumbs onto my pillow; cooking up his own demented little recipe of vermin shadenfreude. This enraged me. I decided to get it over with. I held onto the un-open end of the bag, jerked my arm back and flung the mouse and remaining crumbs high up and out over the icy water.

As the mouse flew up and began arced downward, I screamed,

"I hope you enjoyed the crumbs you SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!"

He kerplunked an impossible distance from shore. I watched as he tried to swim and slow down after a few aimless feet. I turned and walked back into the Coop. It was done.

I hoped this loss would devastate the mouse community and they would succumb to their misery by indulging on those ever enticing green pellets. Unfortunately, the deceased mouse's friends and family vowed revenge and would persevere in the struggle against me for months to come. I had one victory, but the real showdown had just begun.

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