Poor L'il Mr. Mousie ...
When I pulled out the garbage can to toss in some crumbs, there was a l'il grey house mouse in it. I don't know if it was Mr. Mousie from yesterday who'd escaped and was back, or another Mr. Mousie. I plunked the tin that was in my hand down over top of him, then plunked the breadboard on top of the garbage can. There was much scrabbling, and I noticed that the top of the garbage can is not flush, leaving a more-than-large-enough gap for Mr. Mousie to escape if he could climb up to it ... so I peeked, of course.
No, he didn't escape (this time), but he was perched on top of the tin, reaching for that not-flush edge with 'is wee l'il skittery, grabby paws. So I plunked the bread board back on top and gave the whole mess a little shake, then another. There was scrabbling, then none. When I peeked again, Mr. Mousie was curled up on his back inside the tin, with a bloody noggin and I was sad. I'm sorry, Mr. Mousie.
I would have been okay with one of the cats having Mr. Mousie for a snack, or with killing him in a quick-kill trap (if that had been the type of trap I'd bought). This is my house and mousies are not welcome to live here ... but I'd rather relocate them than dash in their little brains.