Tonight my friends, I am a hunter. I sit here perched in my blind, hunched over like Quasimodo, stalking my prey. I am awaiting the time when I will act out my long dormant nomadic survival genes and place my foot squarely on the rung of the evolutionary ladder immediately above that of my quarry.
The light is dim and I am patient. My foe is no normal herd beast of the forest. No wild bison of the plains. No, I await the arrival of the most dreaded of all urban animals. The Mus musculus, or more simply, the House Mouse.
For almost six years my home territory had been free of the gray scourge. Not even a roach in sight. Which is suprising, considering that my roommate and I keep our house about as clean as a cookie factory/Tiajuana whore house, where no one is kicked out of bed for eating any of the product.
What an adrenaline rush.
After one or two sightings I ran to the Sporting Goods Store (Family Dollar) to get my hunting equipment (mouse traps and mini Snickers bars). I then mapped out the apartment and located the most obvious mouse routes.
Speaking as someone who has seen The Exorcist and tried to win an argument with a woman about menstruation and its effects on mood, I still say setting a mouse trap is the most frightening thing I have ever done. That trap has a fucking hair trigger and it KILLS shit. I don’t want the tip of my finger getting killed.
But I perservered and my apartment is now fully mined with mini mouse claymores. All I have to do now is turn off the lights and await that snap in the middle of the night.
Not sure if I’m going to eat the mouse’s heart to gain its strength. Would that be economical, what with mice having so little strength. Or is it proportional, the whole strength gain through heart eating thing?