We woke up this morning to find our mousetrap was successful - a mouse had been caught. No longer than my index finger, it was tiny.
I left the Husband to dispose of the mouse while I took Angus out for a walk. When I got back, the Husband told me about how when he chucked the mouse into the bin, he realised it was still alive when it scuttled deeper into the bin bag. He thought he saw the mouse only using it's front legs, his hind legs seemingly paralysed. How horrible.
I was adamant that if the mouse was still alive after injuries sustained from the mousetrap, a quick death must ensue. It really is the most decent thing to do, as opposed to have it slowly die :(
I came home in the evening by myself, and lo and behold, the mousetrap had caught yet another mouse (egad!!). This time, the mouse was clearly still alive, and so I could not bear to leave it there in the mousetrap until the Husband came home.
I summoned all the nerves I had, and released the mouse from the trap into a couple of plastic bags double-bagged (shrieking in the process). How incredibly traumatic, I proceeded to smack it against a metal surface 20-30 times until I was certain it could not be anything but dead.
When I was finished, my hands were trembling and my heart was pounding. So stressful and traumatic :(
Rest in peace, little mouse!