Do you want to kill it?

A mouse ran around frantically as I was brushing my teeth. I choked on the minty froth in my mouth and stifled a scream as I jumped into the sink. It was a ridiculous scene. Actually, I am not afraid of mice--I was in a small, enclosed space with bare feet. A sudden fear of it biting into my big toe overcame me. Big deal.  I've seen rats in NYC that eat a plate of mice like that for dinner.  (But, uh, yeah, I was a little shaken.  The speed that thing had!  Rats plod in comparison.  But mice still beat the hell out of cockroaches!).

I knocked on my roommates door to tell her about the sighting. She said, "Do you want to kill it?"

"No--I just want it to live somewhere else."

"The landlord will come and spray chemicals."

"You should ask her to bring humane traps."

"Yes--she brings traps."

"But humane traps--like a cage that catches the mouse.  I will go set it free in the park."

I tiptoed into the bathroom--as if afraid to rouse a blood-thirsty giant--and snatched my towel and toothbrush.

"You have to be brave," my roommate said, balling her fist to add emphasis to her rallying speech before an important battle.  "The mouse won't come out now."

"I'm not scared, but I am going to finish brushing my teeth in the kitchen."

I turned on the light and noticed that someone had a pot of tea eggs sitting on the stove.  Perks of living with women from China.  Perhaps the rodents agree.