TW: Death and dying.
Today I punched a mouse to death.
We've been having mouse troubles, partly because I've been under a lot of stress the past few weeks and haven't been doing enough house cleaning. Today things escalated to the point where one was on the kitchen counters, so we and alias-pseudonym embarked on a thorough cleaning.
One of the mice who had learned there was food on the counter was still searching for it this evening, though, and scurried under the plastic bottom to the dish-drying rack as soon as I came in. I removed the dishes, sandwiched it inside with towels, then punched the rack. It tried to squeeze out from underneath, and I punched it again as soon as its tiny head peeked out.
I really did not want to do this, but our traps have been ineffective and there are a lot of reasons why you don't want mice in your home. I'm slightly traumatized now, and have a cut on my knuckle.
On the other hand, there is now one less mouse, and I appreciate the morbid absurdity of being able to say that I punched a mouse to death.
I said a prayer of apology to the mouse's spirit, and asked their psychopomp to help ensure that they go someplace warm and safe in their next life.