It was 10:30 a cold. Fall breeze was blowing through my bed room window. I had been lost in a digital world diligently updating my website through code and letters when Erica hustled into my room. Almost in tandem with the shuffle in her step were the sounds coming out of her mouth. If you paid close attention you could decipher the quick mumble as “I think I heard a mouse.”
I stepped into the kitchen to a faint rustle behind a cardboard box of homemade marinara sauce. Thinking there must be some mistake on the behalf of our ears. I refused to believe there was a mouse behind there. I gave the box a gentle kick. The glasses inside clinked together. A small gray mass of fur scratched across the tile floor moving from the shelves to the area between the grimy yellow stained refrigerator and the wall. Erica shrieked and leapt off the ground then high-footed it back to her bedroom.
What began with a quick shuffle has lead to heavy steps as I put my boots on and began to formulate a plan with Erica. The kitchen had to be quarantined. The door to the living room was blocked by two dinner trays placed vertically and duct taped onto the door frame. The door to the common room was blocked by an unused picture frame and a wide piece of cardboard. A constant eye was kept on the grimy yellow stained refrigerator to ensure that Mr. Fuzzybuns did not attempt a grand escape. I took note of the time; it was 10:50pm. We needed traps poisons anything that could keep Mr. Fuzzybuns and his unseen kin at bay. I put on my sweatshirt and ran out the door.
I arrived at Chansky’s Market at 10:55. The employees that consisted of laid back types who wore tattered jeans to work had begun shutting the store down. I ran inside in a huff and asked the first person I saw if they had anything that could stop a mouse. This man tall and lanky with a tight fitting wool cap and a loose fitting wool sweater told me to “check over there.” He lead me to a veritable armory of rodent defense. I grabbed four mouse traps and two glue traps a box of poison and some rubber gloves. The man at the register chuckled. “You’re not playing huh?” No sir. I am not.
I marched back to my apartment the night air whipping at my hands rustling the plastic bag that held the tools of destruction. I climbed the stairs each drop of my steel toed boots echoed like artillery in the distance. I was the facilitator of mouse death and I was getting closer. I flung open the front door and filled my apartment with an air of power. I continued my death march to the kitchen where I unloaded my weapons. I grabbed at the grimy yellow stained refrigerator and pulled it away from the wall revealing a cache of mouse droppings littering the floor like chocolate jimmies. I pulled the shelves away from the wall and took the faceplate off of the radiator. I was preparing my battlefield.
The spring loaded traps were terrifying like the kind you would see in an old cartoon. The bar was held back in a precarious manner in which the slightest jostle could set it off. A bit of carelessness could lead to a loud SNAP which would lead to a much softer snap. The much softer snap would be the bone at the tip of your finger. Carefully. I began to mine the kitchen floor alternating between harmless glue traps and the spring loaded traps.
The kitchen was in disarray. Appliances sat in the middle of the room spring-loaded death sat parallel to the wall mouse feces were scattered among the floor and the door ways were blocked. The chaos of the battlefield was making me uncomfortable. It was getting late about 11:30 to be exact. I had to get to bed so I could be rested for work the next day. Erica had already hid in her room lining the small space between her door and the frame with towels and glue traps. It was time to take my leave. I had a few odds and ends on the internet that I needed to take care of before bed so I sat down at my computer.
Only ten minutes has passed. I stepped into the kitchen to a rustle under the radiator. One of the spring loaded traps was over turned under it were a pair of flailing limbs. I watched for a minute as they kicked and clawed only to quickly tire out then cease moving all together. I looked away with my head hung low. I walked over the the trap to find a small white and brown mouse neck contorted legs stretched. I put the trap mouse dangling into a plastic bag and took it out back. When I came back into the apartment. Erica was standing outside the kitchen’s barrier.
I told her what I had seen the flailing and the small streak of blood left on the floor. Erica shed several tears and left for her bed room. I was worn from all the killing I had done.
I stepped over the barrier around the grimy yellow stained refrigerator to the back door. The trap next to the door was over turned under it a small gray mass lay twisted. It was Mr. Fuzzybuns no doubt so tormented over the lose of his beloved wife that he could not imagine living a life of grief.
“Tragedy has struck twice,” I said with a sigh. Then I left the kitchen because I figured I would make Tom throw this one out.
We gather on this most solemn of occasions to recognize the passing of the Fuzzybuns family into the Great Kitchen Corner of Beyond. They were a brave trio - Mr. Fuzzybuns the leader and crumb winner; Mrs. Fuzzybuns his faithful true love; and Junior Fuzzybuns a plucky explorer whose big heart was only exceeded by the size of his dreams. They lived we think between the walls surrounding the Sociodome’s kitchen stealing tiny crumbs that were dropped and forgotten by the humans they shared the apartment with. Theirs was a simple but straightforward life following the tenants of Speedbowl until the very last. But do not mourn their passing! Nay rather celebrate their lives as they were shining examples to us all of how fufilling a life we can have if we learn to just not think but bowl. They bowled their hearts out and in the end their deaths were as quick as their lives. We salute you dear Fuzzybuns family and wish you the best wherever you may be now. In the name of The Apple. Hard Liquor and Video Games. Amen.
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