I am Shiva, the Destroyer. I am the decider of destiny. I am death.

A wee, tiny mousie breathes no more, and I am the mistress of it’s fate. The one, old-fashioned trap, the one that was not bloodless and fake clean, displayed it’s victim, which I double-bagged within the trash, an inelegant and undignified ending, perhaps.

The other traps will remain, because a mouse is not a lone wolf. Perhaps the traps will become beacons of danger, signposts to the mouse masses. In my house, in this castle, yours is not a welcome visit. Move on, or taste the wrath of my steel (or plastic), as it were.