Death

My Hero doesn't want me to share this.  I killed a mouse in the kitchen by pinching it between the countertop and the wall.  He thinks I'm a superhero for killing the mouse.  He just doesn't want everyone to know that we have mice.  Well, the secret is out.  There are mice in New York City.  

I have killed lots of cockroaches.  They almost drove me out of New York in my first three weeks living here, but I have grown bold.  When necessary, I smash them with my bare fists.  I always hit them so hard that I won't feel the squish.  No matter how they die I always think, That's a fitting death for a cockroach.  

I have never personally killed a mouse before.  I've caught them with traps or pesticide.  Once I found a mouse drowned in my dishes that had been soaking overnight like Anne of Green Gables and the uncovered pudding.  Of course, I had to wash everything again with a new sponge and extra hot water.  We had a mostly-dead suffering mouse that My Hero put in a bag and windowsill whacked it out of it's misery. 

Today, was a surprise.  I was trying to scare the mouse away.   It won't be an impressive story to tell while waiting in line for mouse judgement.  Not like being swooped up by a hawk or some other natural predator.  Star thought leaving the corpse there for an hour or two would be a good lesson to any other mice that might be living behind our refrigerator.  That's so ancient Assyria, but I didn't want to dispose of it myself.  I waited for My Hero.  I think he is a superhero.  

My Polish super tells me there is only one mouse in the building, so we're all good.  If there were any other mice, they would have packed their bags and would be waiting until I finish this post and go to bed to sneak under the door and across the hall to try their luck in a new place.  Despite the ignominious death, Squeaky Cheeky is in a new place, too.  I wish him and the others well...well away from here.