I never minded field mice. They kept out of my house and I left them alone. That is, until I got married. My wife absolutely hated mice. So, one day she discovered we had a mouse scurrying around in our bedroom.

For the next two days, all I heard was, “Did you kill IT yet?”

Well, after I gave it a chance to leave on its own, I went out and got some glue traps. The mouse was hanging out near my computer, so I put the trap near the corner. Two days went by and no mouse showed up. I figured it was gone, so I didn’t bother checking the trap hourly.

Unfortunately, my wife continued to look, almost every ten minutes. She did a blood-curdling, low-boiled, pee-your-pants, stand on one leg and double over at the waistline scream. I ran in expecting to see some hairy stalker with a rusty knife, but it was only a little one-inch brown fuzzy mouse, looking very forlornly at his back feet, which were stuck in the glue.

I looked around for a stick and a dustpan so I could dispose of the mouse. My wife recovered her composure, and was looking at the sad little fuzzy thing. I came back in with the disposal tools, and she said, “Please don’t kill it. It’s so cute! Let it go.”

Sigh… The mouse looked at me with little beady eyes and seemed to say, “Listen to the lady!”

I scooped up the mouse. It was evening, and I went out to the street, across from a large park. It took me a few minutes to peel the mouse off of the glue. Unfortunately, its back feet were stuck together. It did a kangaroo hop back towards my house. I ran around it and herded it towards the field. At this time, my neighbor’s cat decided to have a snack. It ran up and snatched the mouse, which squeaked once and was silenced.

I told my wife I let the mouse go. I left cat out of the story, and I kept my mouth shut when the cat had half of its mouth glued shut.