mrginger

Two nights ago my girl left me a series of frantic messages while I was at work. I called her back on my break. The trap next to the fridge had done its job. Sort of. The rat that had had the misfortune of getting its neck snapped in the contraption was still alive, panting, and trying desperately to free itself. My poor pregnant girlfriend was beside herself. None of them knew what to do. I told her to sweep the thing into a cardboard box, close the lid, put a weight on it, and leave the bundle on the porch. She did. When I got home at 11 the thing was still struggling in there, wheezing and scratching. I didn't want to set it free for fear it would construct a mob against me. So I did the next best thing I could think to put it out of its miserable state. I killed the rodent. I bashed its head in with a wine bottle. It made one faint trailing squeak on the way out and I hoped its conception wasn't anything immaculate.

Today I am 33.