Murder Most Foul -Hamlet

He dodged and dived, but she followed his every step. He squealed in fear; cowered; but she ruthlessly continued forward. She picked him up; threw him, lifted him and tossed him in the air as if he weighed nothing. When she grew tired of his mournful cries she cracked his backbone, bringing about a slow, excruciating end.

It’s not nice to play with your food. However, when that food is a mouse who makes the tack room his home, it’s imperative that he’s gone yesterday. They’re cute, they’re sweet, but unless they’re domesticated and caged, I don’t want them.

I noticed a small shadow running across my field of vision about a week ago. It came and went so swiftly, I thought I imagined it. Then it became a daily occurrence.

Eventually, I sat with a boarder in the tack room and saw him. The unmistakable grey shape flitted around bran mash buckets, then around the food containers.

Though little Mickey or Minnie seemed cute, I took action.

After the “Ugly Kitty” issues I’ve experienced with opossums, and knowing myself, I couldn’t use glue or live traps. I couldn’t kill him using the “Mousey Electric Chair” method. I decided to go the old-fashioned route.

I hired a hitman.

Stealthy, motivated, and opportunistic, Rue showed all the attributes needed to find the mouse. Sleek and small, the orange-haired wonder slid into the tack room with hardly a whisper of invitation. By the evening, she found and destroyed the mouse, severing its backbone with her teeth.

Crunch.

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