Mousetraps: Part II

"Jesus Christ, this is all because we live at the bottom of the hill," my mother sighed, "This apartment complex is basically the neighborhood dumpster. No wonder there are these... mice everywhere."

The discovery of our first American Mouse, a year after we'd moved to the United States, was anything but pleasant. And my mother was taking it especially badly.

"Sasha," she turned angrily to my father, "What did I tell you, ah, Sasha? Do not buy the apartment at the bottom of the hill! I warned you, so many times: do not buy dirty, dumpster apartment filled with these... disgusting rats! "

"Well," he retorted sarcastically, "Maybe when you find work in this country, you can buy us whatever luxurious apartment you want, huh?"

I was getting tired of these silly arguments, but finally, after hours of bickering, it was decided that we would buy mousetraps. The Russian metalbox mousetraps never really bothered me. In fact, I sort of enjoyed opening the door, releasing the mouse, and watching it scurry away. But this time, my father went to a hardware store in Brookline and bought sticky glue traps.

"I don't really understand how these things work... does the mouse just... die slowly?"

"Amy, those things are disgusting creatures! They will give us diseases and kill us, if we don't kill them! Would you rather die, is that what you want, for us all to get sick and die?"

"But it just seems so unnecessary...."

I couldn't stop thinking about the mice, and moreover, the traps themselves were a nuisance. They glue was thick and yellow, and any time hair or dust fell onto the traps, it stuck permanently. And, in my insomniac five-am-wanderings around the kitchen, I'd always forget their presence.

"Shit!" I'd hiss, and rip the thing off my foot, unintentionally peeling the top layer of skin. The thick glue took nearly a week to wash off completely.

"It seems that we have caught zero mice so far, but three Amys!" my mother would giggle hysterically.

I'd quietly grumble and stomp back to my room, my foot sticking slightly to the rug with each step.