The Rodent Relocator’s Dilemma
Once Stuart Little was gone, there was evidence of his kin thriving. I decided to break out the big guns: d-CON® Bait Pellets, “bait” being a euphemism for “murderous poison.” Only when I got to the store I came upon dCON’s version of a Havahart trap for mice. Who knew?
I lovingly placed a mini Fluffernutter® inside, and by 3 a.m. someone was in lockdown; I sang him a lullaby and slept fitfully. Due to time constraints the next morning, I dropped him by the river courtside before a tennis match with a bunch of complete strangers, establishing myself right up front as a total nutter. When Stuart Little, Jr. was freed, he literally bounced across the grass (horribly, in the wrong direction) like a kangaroo. The point is this: he was in an absolute lather, wild-eyed, soaked in sweat and urine and Fluff, so traumatized he probably died soon after.
That evening, my housemate took this story in, weighed it, and responded with disgust at my sick cruelty: “Just get a regular trap. They’ll never know what hit ’em.”