There is a mouse in the house. He’s been feasting on those psudo-logs you buy at the grocery store when you have a fireplace that you don’t really use until you have a fantasy about cuddling up in front of the fire and then you go buy some and they end up hanging around the fireplace for months. He’s been leaving poopy gifts in the pots and pans.
My roommate swears that, if she sees said mouse, she is selling the house.
Me, I’d be a lot more worried about cockroaches.
We now have the old fashioned traps tucked behind stuff, but no decisive snaps indicating that the jaws of death have closed on Mr. Mouse and, in a fraction of a second, broken his neck. The roommate doesn’t particularly want to kill this mouse, but she also doesn’t want to sell the house. Between the two, the selling of the house is the far more odious prospect. And so Mr. Mouse must die.
But now comes the question of who is going to empty the trap, assuming Mr. Mouse has a dying wish for peanut butter. She has refused. She doesn’t want to see a dead mouse or handle said dead mouse.
Which has interacted oddly with recent news that my Mother’s cancer is not going to be the slight annoyance that we had been lead to believe, and that she may in fact have a much more finite life expectancy than previously thought. Assuming the proverbial bus doesn’t add an element of unpredictability to this equation.
I find the idea of her body being absent much more fathomable than the idea that her experience and interactions will disappear. Somehow it is easier to wrap your mind around not having a body than not having a perspective.
There’s something there in the transition there, perhaps for the mouse and my mother, that indefinite state between where you are not quite cut lose from your body just yet but the metaphorical mousetrap is baited and set. It isn’t being dead, it’s being almost dead that is concerning. From almost dead to the logistics that happen when a body is no longer animated by it’s wants and opinions. Everything before and after that is manageable, it’s just the space between the trap being set and the body being returned to carbon that seems to be uneasy for those of us with a mouse problem and devastating for those of us with a cancer problem.