AHHHHH!!!!!! OHHHHH!!!!! DAMN!!!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! 
OK. Man, that hurt. Nobody is doing anything!
There's no way that didn't show on the squiggly line screen.
The family is sitting right there. Doing nothing. Watching TV. Is nobody going to do anything?!
AHHHHHH!!!! DAMN!!!!! DAMN YOU!!!!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS PAIN????!!!!
OK. I feel better. The tubes though.
Got all these tubes in me. I had a dream I was going to be a balloon in the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I still can't get over the trach. They trached me. Didn't ask me. Just stuck a tube in me. Thought, "Let's put another orifice in him. And then stick plastic in there." You ask people before putting a tube in their throat. It's the proper etiquette to ask.
Doctors love seeing tubes in people. They like to pop that thing in. Then they stick you with thirty tubes. Tell you they're for hydration and nutrients, to keep you alive. The extent they're willing to go. Whatever they can do to see more tubes coming out of you. I thought I had another limb coming out of my neck. 
Doctors get very excited when they get to cut holes in people. Dr. Feigenbloom was so happy, yelling, "I'm cutting a hole!!!!! We can get another hole in Phillip's arm."
My doctor thinks it’s a lab. They think I'm an experiment. He took a scalpel. Thought I was a frog. 
They only thing more exciting to my doctor than cutting a hole in me was him popping in the tube.
It gives them something to do. We need to give doctors other activities. They're very fidgety. Maybe darts. If they played darts more, that might keep them occupied. I would have less tubes coming out of me. My doctor would probably put the target paper on me and start aiming. I can't stand the guy. He's definitely out to get me. Either he's trying to kill me, or he's poking me with as many needles as he can, or he's got a weird idea of how to tickle people. Whatever it is, it's an abusive relationship.
​
Now they're all looking at me differently. I'm not a person anymore. They don't see me. They see the tube. It's like I'm a machine now. A machine with a prosthetic throat.
It's the tube. That's why people are looking at me differently. The stroke and not being able to move or talk might also have something to do with it. But it's definitely the tube. Not one person has asked me "what are we doing tonight?" Since I've had the tube in, nobody's asked me to hang out. Not one person has mentioned pickup basketball. Not one person brought up shopping. I would like a new button-down. Nobody told me about the sale at Kohl's. Summer vacation coming up. Nobody brought that up. Nobody brought up camping. I just got a new tent. 
​I'll get over it. Do you ever get over a tube in your throat? Is there a point where that becomes a regular thing? "That's the way Gd intended it." Is that what people say when they're living their whole life like that?! "Electricity. I need electricity." "We can go hiking on flat ground, as long as there is a sidewalk. And electricity. A nature walk, where we have outlets."

Did we miss the Yahrzeit? Who is doing Kaddish. Man. They're leaving me out of stuff. They better not have missed the Yahrzeit. The candles are in the basement. I told them the candles are in the basement. I don't see a candle in my room.
Dad passed. You better be lighting the Yahrzeit candle. The one that says "Yahrzeit" on it. Better not be lighting the Dollar General stuff. The sacrament candles. Trying to convert everybody to Christianity. You think you're spreading some decent scents in your house, next thing you know, they've baptized your house with the scent of the church. Then you have doctors trying to heal your home, drilling holes in your roof.

I'm worried about the Yahrzeit. Nobody said a thing.
The one thing I ask. Respect the Yahrzeit of my dad. Did you all go to the Kever? If you went to the grave, did you ask them to put in a good word for me with Gd? What did you say?
There is no way they put in a good word. Unless if they're asking my dad to put in a good word with Gd to get more tubes popped in my throat.
Your prayers aren't working. How bad is your Kavanah? Focus. Tell them he doesn't want more orifices, and he doesn't want a needle in his... He wants to be able to pee.
What are you doing there, at the Kever? Spacing out?! It's the Yahrzet. Get something done.

The Yahrzeit is important. That's why I live. You want to think about the past. The people. Pay respect.

Isn't it Tisha BAv? Was it Tisha BAv. Forget about me for a moment. Dad passed. And the Temples are destroyed. We're in exile.
Who is mourning here? Every one of my family members is watching the WNBA in the waiting room. Relaxing and eating pizza the community bought. They're not even here for me. They're here for the free pizza.
Must not be Tisha BAv. They're not fasting. Did they at least fast on Tisha BAv? They were definitely not mourning. They showed up to visit me to have an excuse to sit on chairs on Tisha BAv. ​They're here because they want to sit on chairs.
Do I have to remind these people of the destruction of the Temples.

People are definitely messing up stuff. The Kiddish at shul is messed up still. Have they changed the egg salad back to regular egg salad yet. They better not still be using the pre-peeled eggs. Those things are disgusting. The egg salad at our post shul snack Kiddish is a pre-mourning meal. That should be the last meal of mourning before Tisha BAv. Our sisterhoods pre-peeled egg salad.
What has society come to where people can't peel eggs anymore. 
If I can talk again, I will make sure that people are respecting dad's Yahrzeit, mourning the Temple, and making decent egg salad. I will also stop doctors from cutting up people without their permission. That's a cause I'm behind. You show up to a doctor's appointment and they assume you want them to slash you. I would rather get jumped in the streets. At least there, I have a fighting chance.

​They need me. They need my voice. The community needs me. The family needs me. The death and destruction of my people needs me. AHHHHH!!!!!! OHHHHH!!!!! DAMN!!!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! 
I am feeling pain today. At least I'm feeling the pain of my people. The pain of missing dad. AHHHHHH!!!! DAMN!!!!! DAMN YOU!!!!!! 

I've got to get better to tell them about the Yahrzeit.
I do see a digital light in the corner of the room. You can't digital a Yahrzeit candle. A plug-in Yahrzeit candle. Don't tell me they got a plug-in. They now have pluggable Yahrzeit candles. Are we going to be doing pluggables for Chanukah now. And plug-in Shabbat candles. Did the stroke turn me reform. Am I a reform Jew now.
AHHHHH!!!!!! OHHHHH!!!!! DAMN!!!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! 
Why did everybody leave. They better be fasting. I'm mourning and I'm fasting. The doctor cut me up and there's a tube in my neck.

The kids are already in on it. And now they're asking questions. And I can't answer anything. They want to know about aneurysms, strokes and cancer. Sometimes, it's hard to come up with a good answer for a six-year-old. It was easier to answer the questions about how they got into this world.

Sniffles Didn't Work
Hiding a stroke and cancer with "sniffles" does not work. Most of the nephews and nieces didn't fall for landing in a hospital for months due to sniffles. The kids didn't go for the stories about sniffles that kill people. The jig was up.
They're saying, "I had a fever last week. Can’t Grandpa take Tylenol?!" "If it's nothing serious, why can’t we visit?" "Why did Grandpa have surgery?" "He had a cough." "I had a cough. They cut grandpa’s throat for a cough?!… Maybe it's the sniffles. That's the real bad stuff."
The only positive result of sniffles was one of my nephews lost days of sleep after he sneezed. He's now extremely conscious of his sniffles. And that's sanitary.
​
They Started Doing Research
Antennas are up. The kids are all over the internet. And I'm not letting them on my phone. I'm not going to be an accomplice for sniffles.
They’re showing up to school, talking about intubations and how pulling out plugs isn't always a good thing. Now the one is taking the Rorschach test. My brother is getting asked questions about why his child thinks you have to cut open a throat and passively kill a family member for sniffles.

It's the Right Thing to Let Them Know
Give the kids a chance to be decent people.
In Israel, kids know. They know they're in a bomb shelter. They hear about people dying. They hear the bombs going off. And then they go out and play on the swing set. Knowing that bombs are coming into their Sderot neighborhood. Asking why their parents are fine with them heading to the jungle gym. And they're still happy. They turn into caring people.
Give the kids a chance to help. They should know life sucks. Strokes, aneurysms, cancer. You're in kindergarten, you should know that death is just around the corner. You get recess, you run around the soccer field and then there's intubation. 
Maybe the death thing is a little much. We're talking about care. About wanting to be there for people who aren't doing well. Maybe focus more on financial crisis and the collapse of the economy.
Maybe coloring books. Maybe have them color some "get well soon" cards. That's maybe the way to go. Maybe I jumped the gun with daily discussion of bombs going off at recess. 

It's About Caring
Let them know. Maybe they'll turn into decent people that care. That realize life has its hard times. Maybe they'll think twice before scoring a goal in a soccer game.
Visiting the sick and the elderly is something little kids should know about. It's part of life. If you're not privy to catheters by the time you're in first grade, you're not going to grow into a caring individual. 
My nephews and nieces heard about their Bubbie in the hospital. They want to visit. They want to make cards with pictures of illness. Cancer abstracts.
They know grandpa has deadly sniffles, they can now pray and say Tehillim for the sick people. They can visit. They learn to appreciate school without getting shot at. They want to go to nursing homes. They have a reason to draw something and give their extremely poor art to somebody. They learn to thank mom for dinner and the ability to eat food that's not pureed.
I'm suggesting tours of nursing homes and the ER for the little ones. That's how you get them to behave.

OK - Sharing Intubations with Kids is More Nuanced
Parents have to make decisions based on their children and how their state enforces child services.
Maybe not all the kids should know everything. Got to finesse that.
OK. Maybe there's an age where you start to tell them. Maybe they're not ready for all the ins and outs about cancer in preschool.
Showing up to show and tell with a trach isn't the usual thing. Now the kid is in kindergarten, showing his friends, "This is an intubation tube… My grandpa is dying. Check this out. It's called a trach. You see. It's a tube. You cut open the throat and stick it in there. My grandpa has one of these. This is a catheter. They put that..."
I can tell you, in Israel show and tall is a little different. "They blew up my house. Rockets came in from Gaza. And this is the piece of my house that's left."
Maybe some kids need a couple years to think you can play on a seesaw and not get shot at. There are a lot of weak kids nowadays. 

When I see my nephews and nieces and all these kids that deal with real stuff, it leaves an impact. And most of them want to be good people. Some like being very not helpful. But you let them see the trachs, you can at least weed out the bad ones.
Now one of them wants to be a doctor.​ I would not trust that kid with a scalpel. That kid's got to finish the fourth grade. Can't even figure out multiplication. Very excited about intubations. Too excited about incisions and cutting people open at this age. Trying to get her to focus on the prayers and the get well cards.

Conclusion
​Give kids credit. When they're children, they can still care about life. They have feelings. At least we like to think they do. Some of them have feelings. I met one that cared. There's got to be another one out there.

Not all kids are ready for the ICU information. You've got to pick what you share. When they're in nursery school, you let them know grandma has a booboo. When they’re in elementary school, you let them know grandma has it bad. She’s in the hospital. When they’re in high school, you let them know it’s their fault. 
Maybe wait till they're out of the ICU. The kids can know something is bad. But it's better they're not in the ICU. Maybe high school. Once they're in high school, the ICU is a time for them. Just make sure the idiots aren't in the waiting room playing spit. I see my high school nephews and nieces having a ball, screaming "spit." The family next to us is discussing when they should pull the plug. The post-surgical intensive care is not the right place for hide and go seek.

For those too young to be at the hospital, prayers and drawings are a beautiful way to show love. Abstracts of aneurysms is not a card somebody wants to get. Maybe leave it at "Get well soon." For teenagers too stupid to be in a hospital, send them for ice cream.

People want to help and they need that chance. Even little kids, who do nothing of use. You need to be honest with your children to give them the chance to not grow into total selfish jerks. COVID already did a number on their personality. Let them know they should think about other people, because you never know when sniffles and cancer hits. That's how good parents say good night to their children.
​
***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

I protected my home.Security comes first when dealing with animals. And that’s why I thought shooting the cats in the garbage would be the right thing to do.
I had used peanut butter. And even with that, my house was secure. And against the advice of all animal lovers, I used the glue trap. And it worked.

What Do I Do When They Look at You
The mouse was looking to me for help. On the trap looking up at me, asking me to save it. Nobody has ever looked to me for help. When in my life have I ever been depended upon, other than the Torah reading at my Bar Mitzvah. And I messed that up.
Depending on me is a dumb idea. I can't help anybody. I'm useless. I did first aid training. Forgot everything. If you need CPR, I'll be standing there telling you, “Try harder.” Maybe I'll throw in a prayer. Blame you for not breathing right. Wish you good luck.

That look touched my soul. The mouse wanted love. The mouse wanted someone to care for it. And here I was, the only one who could care for it, the one who caused its pain.
In my defense. That's my house. I bought it. The mouse did not help with any of the payments. Not even electric. If anything, he ate the electric. The mouse was just taking advantage. Squatting in my house. Living off the fat of the land. Though, unlike my nephews, he did clean up every once in a while.

Now all the sudden I liked the mouse. I'd never seen the guy before. I'd only heard it. He wanted a relationship. I could use one of those.
I cared. The mouse was a cute little guy. Cute and scary as anything. I wanted the mouse in the house, even if I would never use that hallway. That could be his. I had formed a relationship over the months. I had come to look forward to hearing the little guy. I wanted to keep the mouse. I didn't want to let him go. Wanted to hold it. Pet it. Sleep with him. I have no girl in my life. 
We could hang out, watch an Amazon Prime Special, eat peanut butter together. Find a glue trap and eat a few centipedes. Whatever he wanted. I could tell you this. I didn’t want to lose him or hurt him. Until I saw him on the glue trap, I wanted to kill the thing. Execute it. Not now. Now I had a bond with that manipulative little guy.

YouTube Knows
I couldn't figure out what to do, so I went on YouTube. I figured an influencer would have some advice. A teenager hanging out in their bedroom should be able to coach me on this.
The teenager said to kill it. To quote, "You murder the thing. That's humane." And then they went on to say, "You used a glue trap. You're an evil human being."
Has morality come to letting mice take over your house?! Infestation?! That makes a moral human being?! And they continued, "People with a soul use mouse traps that don't work." Well. I did use mouse traps that don't work. Many of them. And now I have peanut butter all over my house.
Whoever came up with the peanut butter idea is a sick individual. They must've had too much in stock. Then they started with this whole "mice like peanut butter" campaign. It was Wegmans supermarket.

Being the kind humane person, I took the teenager's advice and I killed it. That's what our education system has created, a bunch of kids who think homicide is what moral people do.
I wanted to be kind about it. I loved my friend. And to kill something you love tears out a piece of your heart. So, I took my boot and whacked it. Started slamming my boot at that thing. Whipping the mouse against the wall. That's the humane thing to do. You take a bag, put the mouse in the bag and start banging the thing.
I figured boots were good for this. They're good for walking in snow and killing mice.
The humane thing had me feeling bad.
 
The YouTuber knew Halacha. The fact the teenager knew the Jewish laws of Tzar Baal Chayim amazed me. If you must kill an animal, it should be as quick and painless as possible. I figured the boot worked. I don’t know how successful I would’ve been at Shechting the mouse.

It was looking at me to save its life and I killed it. If we can't care for this living being, something is wrong with us as people. It wasn't like this was my neighbor. That guy is a jerk. I would not mind seeing that guy suffer. Get him a glue doormat for his front door.
I felt so bad. I had caused the mouse to suffer, and then I killed it. Was I a murderer?

​Murderers Feel Bad
I felt bad. And that made me feel better. If you commit homicide and you feel bad about it, you're a good person. In prison, they reduce your sentence for stuff like that.
And I did kill the mouse. So, that made me a good person. Truth be told, I’m kind of a Tzadik, a righteous man, for killing that animal. Nonetheless, I felt bad. With all the Halacha and proper practice of execution and use of the boot on my side, I felt bad. And mind you, I didn’t strangle the mouse. I’m not vengeful like that. I took the boot and stomped it.

The mourning period had begun. That mouse was on my mind for two weeks. Two weeks of bereavement. I couldn’t talk to people. I ate peanut butter. Anything to connect me to the soul of my friend I had taken from this world. I started walking barefoot. Sniffing glue. Started sweeping up the pretzel crumbs. Eulogized about walls and how my friend was able to see what was in walls. I began to care about animals. I swore I would never eat mice again. 
What gave me the right to take life? It was the boot.
I realized I had to do Teshuva. I had to repent. I had to be a better person. I gave Tzedakah. Charity was given to every animal project out there. I adopted a hamster. Figured I would get a mouse people like. Nobody kills hamsters. I supported PETA. I became vegetarian.
I started volunteering at the petting zoo. Figured, if they're locked up all is good. As long as there's no glue anywhere.

I was scared of the mouse. But I cared for the mouse. And to that, I was stuck feeling like a disgusting human being. Everything I had done in my life, all the good the bad the care for family in their times of need, was now encapsulated in the eyes of that mouse. And I killed it. I squandered it. I let it down. And I realized I had not done my job caring for others. And I messed up my Torah reading at my Bar Mitzvah.

That was a life that I took. Life with eyes. With feelings. I knew I had to become more caring of animals.
Then my sister-in-law invited me for dinner and put out an amazing brisket

Postscript
Death is death. To be part of that isn’t easy.
To this day, I can't get over what I did to the mouse. The creature of Gd that looked to me for help. It haunts me. I still feel bad. So, when you see me, know that you should be feeling bad for me. Not the mouse.
Now I know what serial killers must feel like. I’m speaking of compassion here. And when I see people, I’m more compassionate now. I think twice before trapping them, and setting up glue traps.
And I still have no idea how to do CPR.

Do I still use glue traps. They work. Would I kill a mouse again. I do like to have guests in my home. I can tell you this much. Knowing what I know now, I would never use a glue trap to catch deer.
Lesson: If you want to feel good, don’t use stuff that works, and do not worry about the cleanliness of your home. Since I took the life of my friend, I have not used a Swiffer.

It’s the window to the soul. The eyes. And now I care for any living being with eyes. A spider, I’ll kill the thing. A cockroach. I’ll squash that thing with my hands.
Yes. I’m still scared as hell of mice.

I didn't want to do it, but there was a mouse in my home. And that mouse changed my life.

Animals Scare Me
I'm not an animal person. I'm a weak human being. I will approach an animal once it's dead and eat it. But I will not pet it. And I feel bad about it. But these things scare me.
​Cats scare the living Beheyma out of me. Living in Israel, I didn't throw out my garbage for years. Those things would be waiting in there. Waiting for me to approach. They knew I was coming. Every time I threw out my trash, they’d jump at me. They'd come flying out of the bin.
Outside my apartment, coming home one night, there were fifty cars. Two cats were going at it and the others were watching the Felidae MMA Event. The cats were being entertained. One cat was taking bets. One cat was standing by the garbage, selling tickets. They called each other together to see the fight. These things communicate. And I couldn't get into my apartment that night.
I called the Israeli police and they just laughed. I thought they might come and arrest a few of them. I thought it was illegal for cats to sell tickets to fights. It turns out, that’s also legal in Israel.
Point is I didn't throw out trash for a very long time. And in America, there are racoons. Thanks to animals, I keep my house very dirty.
Animals conspire against me. Let me not get into the pigeon who's been attacking the air conditioner outside my room the past three years. Just there to wake me up and ruin my day. They know what's going on and they’re out to get me. And so are mice.
They all scare me. All I ever did was stay away from animals and eat them. No connection.

A Mouse in the House
I knew there was a mouse in the house. There was a pretzel on the floor and it was not there anymore. Somebody cleaned it up. It couldn't have been my nephews. In kindergarten, second and third grade, those kids haven't ever picked up a thing. They’ve drop stuff, but they’ve never picked anything up. Bad backs run in the family.
There was a mouse. And I didn't need a mouse gang organizing underworld mouse brawls in my house.

The Defenses
As a responsible adult, I set up defenses around the perimeter of my home. A strong security perimeter. I built up the internal defenses as well. They had already infiltrated. Mouse tactic is not some they teach you in the military. Apparently, the mouse threat is not a concern of the armed forces. The National Guard is not on rodent. Nor are the Israeli police.
I put up traps everywhere around the house, sprayed, barbed wired. My house had been infiltrated by something that was cleaning my floor. I knew something had to be done.
Barbed wire was up. Some of these mice are huge. I'm not taking any chances. I didn't want mice in the house. I definitely didn't want nephews in there. I set up a moat around the exterior. As I was digging, I found more animals. Stopped that project and now I have a messed-up patch of grass and a groundhog.
I sprayed the place with anything that could kill. The container had to look like something that brought death. I sprayed oven cleaner everywhere. Figured, that stuff has to be fatal. I touched it once and lost a finger. It's got to kill.
If you’re ever selling a kind of spray to kill animals, make sure the package has the animal dying. Words aren’t enough. The animal with no hope of life entices people to buy it. People like to see animals dying.
I went to Home Depot and got everything that looked like a mouse getting electrocuted. See a mouse getting shocked, I bought it. Any picture of a cat that looks like a serial killer, I bought the product. The scarier and more felonious the feline looks, the better. Cat with spiked hair, looks good to me. I put out those traps. Then I put up the cat pictures to scare the mice. Thought the mug shot of the cat might scare them out of the house. Let the mouse know there was a tyrant, and its name was Tomcat. I put up those Tomcat pictures, I was scared to walk around the house. That's a scary looking cat.
I figured. If cats scare me, they must frighten the Beheyma out of mice.
Defenses were up. I used every trap.
People said don't put out the glue traps. I asked them why. Answer. "Because they work. Mice don't like them and they work." Then they said something about the mouse suffers as it dies slowly. So, I put it out.
Put out the clip trap. That caught my finger.
Put out the maze trap where they go inside think they're having fun, and die. The maze trap didn't work. The mouse has to find the entrance to that thing. It's a maze. To get over the ramp into that thing, you've got to be a brilliant mouse looking for a fun activity. I got rid of the maze fun park trap. My goal wasn't to set up a rodent jungle gym. I got a Rubik's Cube instead. Gave the mouse another activity to keep him occupied. Take his mind off of eating my wall.
Got the shock trap, where they go through a mouse hallway and get zapped. I guess that incapacitates them for a few minutes, before they wake up and finish their burglary of my house.
​I prayed. When you go to battle, you pray. Just as Yaakov. I prayed and set up traps. I put out traps with peanut butter. Peanut butter was the gift. I went Biblical on the mice. I get my battle ideas from the Torah.
I used peanut butter on every trap. The barbed wire was smothered. This way you touch the barbed wire and your hands get sticky. Everybody said "use peanut butter." Peanut butter was on every trap and not one of those traps caught a mouse. 
 
Most people suggested the maze trap, as then you can carry the mouse out of your home, let it live and drop it in your neighbor’s yard. Give them the mouse problem. But I’m not that much of an animal activist.
I would’ve purchased the mouse edible block poison, but I didn’t need the mouse tripping all over my house. The peanut butter also didn’t spread well on the edible. Instead, I put out bread. Figured peanut butter on bread is excellent. I like that. Mice would like that too.
 
That was a good five days at Home Depot and the grocery store. Why the Wegmans grocery store sells mouse traps. They’re a loss leader for peanut butter.
My house was secured and ready. Traps out. I learned a lot. One thing I learned, mice don't like peanut butter. Maybe they're allergic to peanut butter. I don't know.
 
The Search
For months I heard the mouse running around the house. But I wasn't a hundred percent sure. I thought it was the new wood floor they put in, settling, pitter-pattering every night. Maybe a cockroach. The mouse was gaslighting me. These animals are smart. They know what they're doing.
Every day I checked the mouse traps, to make sure they didn’t work. And to make sure I didn’t have to pick up another jar of peanut butter. I was running out.
I didn't want the traps to work. If I catch the mouse, what then?!
 
The Mouse Was There
I'm walking up the stairs from the basement. I did laundry that night. I have to walk all the way down the stairs to put up a load, then I have to walk back up. I'm almost as scared to do laundry as I am to throw out garbage. I'm walking up the stairs and I see something pretty big on the glue trap. My soul fell. My heart dropped. My eyes got wet. It's been fifteen years since I've achieved anything. I went on a four day fishing trip. Caught nothing. 
Must've been the Shpritz I sprayed around the house, with the picture of a mouse going to hell on it.
It wasn't one of my nephews. It was the mouse. The glue trap caught it. I know because I saw it breathing. A creature of Gd that was not a spider. Nor was it one of my kin that doesn't help around the house.
I felt so bad. I didn’t want to kill it. I definitely didn’t want to see it suffering on the glue trap. I would’ve much rather put it in my neighbor’s house. And I cared about this mouse. What could I do? Could I drop off the glue trap with the mouse on it at my neighbor?

Now that the trap worked, my heart was broken. Yet, I felt like a champion. A champion who felt pain.
 
Postscript
It wasn’t the peanut butter. The mouse ate none of the peanut butter. The peanut butter was still there.
Is peanut butter inhumane? I can't tell you. 

To be honest. Those glue traps are great for catching spiders. Centipedes, ants, spiders. Mice eat those. Put centipedes on the mouse traps. Just a piece of advice.
 
Somebody got wind of the pictures I put up to scare the mouse. They thought I lost my pet. Ended up bringing me an actual tomcat. Now I have no idea how to get rid of the thing. There are no tomcat traps with scary looking mice on them. Now, I’m too scared to throw out garbage in my house.