Farewell to the Maginot Line
Unlike the fabled 2nd World War French, I have decided to abandon our (not so) mighty defences before they are overwhelmed, rather than waiting for the blitzkrieg that is sure to come. As per Shara's advice given only yesterday, I will be escalating to chemical warfare.
The mice, you see, after first stealing two traps, presumably for analysis by their scientists, have ignored the remaining glue trap and, after suffering some early losses, now treat the spring-loaded traps with utter contempt.
Last night I heard a snap and descended to the kitchen to see what was what. A trap had been sprung, it lay upon its back, as useless as army tank caught in a pit. Hanging around nearby, was the mouse who'd done the deed. It stared at me insolently. I sensed bitterness that I had interrupted its leisurely meal of peanut butter and cheese, a certain degree of caution, but little fear.
I turned, took hold of a section of newspaper and rolled it up as though to swat a fly. Perhaps happily, but the time the improvised weapon was ready, the mouse was nowhere to be seen.
Later, I told Raven what had happened and she clung to me, shivering. "Honey, let's get poison, please!"
"Let's give the traps another night," I said, feeling more than a little awful about the request. "Please."
Were it not for Raven, I wouldn't have broken so quickly, but she is genuinely phobic about them. You might think it funny if I told you I've seen her standing on a chair because she's seen one (and it truth, to one who does not suffer from musophobia (but arguably, who does suffer from a shortage of empathy) it the sight of the cliche brought to life is funny), but it is not funny to her, not in the least.
So, seeing the upturned trap without the body that triggered it is the final straw. This shall not stand. The mechanical defences will remain, but they will be augmented chemicals. No more passive defense. Today, we move to the attack!