The Husband, Slaughterer of Mice

The husband is a slaughterer of mice. 

We had mice in the basement. The husband wanted them out of the house. 

I agreed, but I wanted him to catch and release the little buggers.

I'm not big on killing anything really. 

I catch and release bugs, even ones that I think are gross. 

I just can't be responsible for snuffing out their little lives. 

I know, but I'm a soft touch, I can't help it. 

Plus, I think mice are kind of cute... in a don't touch me or live in my house kind of way. 

The husband "tried" the humane trap for a week and then proclaimed that they "don't work" and used a regular mouse trap. He caught one that way. I try not to think about it because it kind of makes me sad. 

I went down in the basement tonight and the humane trap had caught a mouse, but because the husband never checks it the poor thing died, probably of starvation or dehydration. 

Poor, sad mouse.

I don't want to kill any more mice.  

I'm not sure why it's the husband's fault, but I'm pretty sure it is. 

He'd definitely be the villain in a children's story about a mouse. 

My mean, ole husband, the mouse slayer. 

The husband can't help killing mice. 

I can't help not wanting him to and feeling bad about it.

This is what we call an impasse.