Drowning Roger and Hammerstein

Over the weekend, I seem to have slipped from my non-alcoholic state of being and once again wallowed in the muck... courtesy of 4 straight nights of drinking. The good news, though, is that I've seemed to have it well under control, not getting myself intoxicated beyond control and compromising my safety in the process (unlike in the past).

However, as such activity is almost always bound to do, seemed I've gained some weight, evidenced by an increasing pudginess on my face. I challenged myself on the scale and true enough I've gained a couple of pounds. The combination of a good time and zero exercise is definitely not helping my effort to lose more weight. So now what?

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Yesterday I had enough. This past week, I've noticed 2 mice scurrying around my apartment. I didn't mind at first, seeing that there seems to be no damage caused. Then last Saturday, I discovered their source of sustenance: My stash of sinigang mix. Pretty clever, actually, since the sinigang mix was placed at the rear of the condiment rack, and thus I didn't discover the evil deed until I actually needed the mix. That was it, I snapped and looked for my mouse trap.

The first trap that I set was the small cage trap, perfect for mice their size. It was a humane way of capturing them without endangering their physical health (not yet, anyway). So I set it and let it be. I checked up on it again that night, and discovered a small mouse thrashing about the tiny cage. I smiled and lectured it on the consequence of its actions, declaring that justice had been done and that its intruded on my inalienable right to my hard earned sinigang mix meant it had to go.

I now was presented a dilemma of sorts, how do I dispose of the errant rodent?

My first thought involved drowning the little sucker in a pail of water, submerging the cage and watching as the last of the tiny bubbles escape from its desperately gasping mouth. Decided against it as I do not have a pail that I could dispose of after the deed was done (heaven forbid I use it again and get infected with mouse piss and feces), and yeah, I didn't have the stomach to watch the poor fella. So on to the next method, which involves inducing it to heat stroke by placing the cage in the open, under the harsh rays of the afternoon sun the next day. However, the weather being overcast and all these past days, it would die first of starvation before dehydration, and that could take days. Then there's death by electrocution, a childhood favorite of mine, but since I've matured over the years deemed it cruel and more so, a waste of electricity (damn electrical bill).

As I pondered on more creative and humane ways of bidding good riddance to the rodent, I figured that just like anyone on death row, it deserved a good meal. I cut a slice of cheese (cartoon-lore has convinced me it's a rodent's favorite), a cut of vienna sausage, a small bottle cap of Yakult. At first, the little bugger wouldn't touch it. Figured I was out to poison it, I guess, and at that moment I thought about that exact route but decided against it, superstitions against the desecration of food and all. It did decide to partake of the its last meal though after an hour of thrashing about.

While it was eating, I turned on the television and thought about the only other option I could think of... death by toilet.

In my youth, my dad had his own unique and relaxing way of ridding the household of mice. He'd take a baking sheet (to my mom's disgust), a spool of thread, a food cover and construct a crude trap for the pesky rodents. He'd tie one end of the thread to his large toe and consequently watch television while keeping one eye on the trap. I sat for hours watching him and the trap instead of the television and was amazed at how relaxed he seemed in his sport. This revealed to me the logic behind fishing the old fashioned way with a fishing rod. When a mouse took the bait underneath the giant food cover, he'd flick his toe and the spool holding up the cover would fly off, allowing the food cover to trap the mouse completely. Then, hed pick up the whole set-up and proceed to the toilet bowl where he'd quickly slide the food cover from the baking sheet and the mouse would slide off and dive into the toilet water. Its frenzied effort to swim toward the porcelain would fail as his paws only slid off and it'd slide back into the water. With a flick of the wrist, water would momentarily fill the bowl and the mouse would spiral off into wherever toilet water would magically disappear to. (Which I would later on learn to be the septic tank)

So the fate of Roger (Yes, I deemed it fit for the creature to have at least an identity before it died. A last token of its existence)was sealed. Goodbye Roger Rodent!

Now, if you'd recall, I mentioned the existence of 2 mice... thus only half the problem was solved. There was still another pest scurrying about in search of more sinigang mix. There was work to be done, still.

As a segue, this story proves what the lovely Christine Jacob-Sandejas declares as the safety of MSG as a food enhancer. I now question the myth of a thief's usual trick of tossing dogs MSG laced bread to neutralize the canine threat, allowing for an easy loot. With the amount of MSG in a packet of sinigang mix relative to the body mass of the mouse (only about an inch and a half in length minus the tail), there is no way it could continue running around if MSG did have unhealthy components in them. I now declare MSG as safe and will not hesitate in using a ton of the stuff in future culinary efforts. Anyway, going back...

So after some disinfecting of the small cage that proved effective in trapping Roger, I set it up again in hopes of finishing off the job. I set it beside the refrigerator (where Roger was silly enough to wander off to) and went off for some celebrating (not exactly at Roger's expense, mind you) with friends.

I came back and as I took out a jug of cold water from the refrigerator, noticed the still empty trap. I wouldn't have made much of a deal of it at first had I not spied the other little critter, still alive and seemed to be taunting me as it ran across the kitchen floor. Maybe it's small little brain was still sizing up the cage, and hadn't decided on trying it out yet. Fine, I'll go check my emails first.

A couple of hours later, I went back to check on it and found the trap still empty, and almost on cue, the critter was underneath the stove, staring right at me, making eye contact. Damn, it knew.

Memories of my freshman high school experimental research design project came back to haunt me. In said experiment, I set out to answer the question of whether mice "learned", learning limited to their ability to negotiate a maze over several attempts and achieve better times with each attempt. Well, the experiment was a complete failure in its effort to draw any conclusion, due to the lack of sound scientific principles and methods, such as providing a control and utilizing the same experiment on a larger sample size. However as the evil and dirty rodent seemed to be taunting me and giving me the finger, I knew mice not only learned from the mistakes of their fallen comrade, but were also capable of holding a grudge. Instantly I named the second mouse Hammerstein, a sort of promise that it would soon be joining Roger in rodent hell, to be raped and tortured repeatedly for an eternity by a horny squirrel or chipmunk.

The humane cage trap that I've set now proved useless in my hunt of Hammerstein, a different tact was to be employed. I fished out my secret weapon, one that had been so effective at administering punishment and a cruel fate on other mice foolish enough to earn my disdain. It was a simple rig, a wooden base, fitted with a spring mechanism that when tripped, would send a metal bar crashing violently on the unsuspecting mouse. I had chosen in the past to replace it with the cage because of its cruelty, but it was either me or Hammerstein, and it was definitely not going to be me spiraling down to the sewer.

I took out the trap and dusted it, the spring was still taut, and the mechanism worked perfectly, ready for another victim. As I baited it, I was careful to slowly lower it in a corner of the kitchen, and soon enough it claimed its first victim for the night, as the spring was tripped and the bar swung violently, striking my thumb as I screamed out a harsh obscenity. Hammerstein 1, Hap 0. This was harder than I thought.

Nursing my thumb as well as my pride, needless to say, I was more careful this time as I set the trap and baited it on a more stable surface. It was now only a matter of time, and in this battle between the species, my slightly superior intellect should serve me well.

I turned on the television once again, feigning indifference. But this time I watched the trap intently ready to jump in delight at my impending victory.

I could hardly contain my excitement as I saw Hammerstein emerge from underneath the refrigerator, making its way past the cage trap (which I still set up as a diversion), and in careful hops, inched closer to the bait. It took one look in my direction before retreating back to its initial position. Dammit, did it suspect anything? I didn't budge, the worst I could do was reveal my interest in the newly laid contraption and give away my intent. I looked in the direction of the television this time but kept a wary eye on the trap, same tact that I remember my dad use so effectively many years ago.

Hammerstein emerged once again, seemingly emboldened by my apparent indifference to it and made a lunge towards the bait. It stopped short of jumping on the food, and took a whiff of the ambient air, trying to smell out any malice, I suppose. Then finally, it carefully reached its grubby hands on the still moist and inviting chicken tendon. Then it happened suddenly as I almost jumped on the sofa, shocked at the split second explosion of kinetic energy.

I crept my way towards the now struggling Hammerstein and inspected the damage. It was a morbid sight. Hammerstein struggled wildly, thrashing its head and forelegs about, as its tail and hind legs laid limp and immobile. Hammerstein's spine was broken. I stood there in shock and recalled the reason I bought the little cage in the first place, this was no way to treat another specie, specially if you weren't killing it for sustenance. Frozen for about half a minute, I knew I had to act quickly to at least give little Hammerstein some dignity in death. I ran to the cupboard to get one of my disposable containers, filled it to the brim with water and dunked the contraption and the still struggling Hammerstein to its doom.

After his quick last struggle, I freed Hammerstein's lifeless corpse from the deathgrip of the cold metal jaws and carefully plunked it down the toilet, to share a grave with Roger. Hopefully by this time, Roger was already dead, and wouldn't witness the fate of Hammerstein. I threw the cruelly efficient mousetrap in the garbage bin and hatred for mice soon turned into a sorry state of conscience.

I took a shower, an effort to wash off the guilt and made my way to the bar, numbing sorrow with beer and drowning myself as Roger and Hammerstein did to their death.