An Open Letter to the Mice in our Apartment Who Consistently Ignore My Humane Trap in Favor of the Rat Zapper
Dear Mice,
I tried. Believe me I did, because I’m on your side. I was the lone voice in the apartment who rose up and cried out in angry protest the day the other
roommates announced we would bring a Rat Zapper into the apartment. Brittany had had too much, seen too many furry horrors running across the kitchen floor or lurking outside the bedroom.
It was I, fair rodent, who raised the fist of objection, who climbed the animal welfare soapbox and offered to pony up the price for the humane trap, the one with the pleasant tiny ramps that lure you in with ease into a comfortable rodent waiting room until, yes, the relocation doctor will see you know, and I will be happy to move you out to a nice verdant life in the wilderness of Fort Greene Park.
The compromise reached in the apartment was that the humane trap, would be placed in direct competition with the Rat Zapper, with its cruel voltage mechanical humming of fatality, to see which was more effective in this Brooklyn apartment.
I tried, believe me, Mice, I tried.
I positioned the Humane Trap directly next to the Death Trap, with hopes its two small entry ways would catch your tiny eyes more than the one, long, gaping maw of the Deathoplex.
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