DIE MOUSE DIE!!!

Dear Little Grey Mouse,

I feel bad that you had to die in order for us to live, and so I’m writing this to explain to you my side of the story.

You see, your presence was not just irrationally scary to us, but also impractically problematic. If it had been just you, we might… MIGHT.. have gotten over our phobia of anything smaller than us that squeaks. No, the clinching evidence against you was the potential of catching rabies, salmonella, or the plague. Also the fact that we wanted our kitchen back. I wanted to sleep soundly without wondering if I would wake up to a furry creature scampering over my legs. This apartment aint big enough for the three of us. And being bigger than you, and having access to luxuries such as mouse traps, we won.

I want to clarify here, though, that your death was not brought about wholly by us. It took some sleuthing, but we figured out that the cause of your death was the rat poison put in our cupboard by the authorities (that we alerted about your presence. But I’m still hoping that buys me some time from purgatory.) Eating it made your system go berserk (thanks to weird pharmacology that our room-mate didn’t understand and hence neither did I) and you felt yourself going crazy and probably committed suicide in a mouse trap. I like to think that you thought it was a more noble way to die than to run out through the drain and die in the cold. And I applaud you for that.

Now I wonder – did you go to heaven or hell? (I’m not sure I believe in either, but I have a feeling you did) If you’re in heaven, I hope that you will have the heart to forgive us. If you’re in hell, then…well…maybe I can apologize when I meet you there.

Sincerely,

The trap setter.