The Great Mouse Hunt
by Christine Hall Here in rural North Carolina the mice are brown, fat, furry and cute, not like the dirty-looking gray mice that live in urban areas. They're also a constant problem. They come inside from the tobacco and alfalfa fields that surround our old house, especially in the fall when they're attracted by the warmth. 
Our dog, Magic, catches most of them before they ever get near the house. She was taught to hunt by Jackson, the cat we had when she was a puppy, so she tortures and plays with her catch, catlike, and deposits the remains on the back porch as a gift.
But she doesn't catch all of them and several times a year I find myself setting-out traps to catch these cute and furry little creatures for the crime of setting-up house in our home. I don't like killing them, but I'm not particularly conflicted about doing so. My attitude is pretty pragmatic: people and rodents can't share living space. End of story.
The other night, after finding signs that yet another mouse had entered our home, I set a couple of traps in our kitchen. I set them where I always do, one on the linoleum floor between the sink and the antique gas range that does nothing but take up space, and the other on a low cabinet shelf that we never use because we've learned that it's one of the first places that mice go after discovering our kitchen.
About midnight or so, after my roommate had gone to bed, and I'd brushed my teeth and performed all of my nightly bathroom rituals, I turned-off all the lights except for in my office where I was planning on putting-in a couple of hours work at the computer. Just as I was settling-in, I heard a snap and rattle from the kitchen; the mouse had taken the bait and was in the process of returning to the spirit of all mice.
Like most people, I don't find emptying a mouse trap to be a particularly pleasant task. For a brief moment, I considered leaving it until morning, but that thought didn't take and I soon found myself crossing through the laundry room, grabbing a Food Lion bag along the way, to the kitchen.
As I expected, the mouse had taken the peanut butter bait in the trap on the floor. I opened the bag and started to reach down for the trap, but just as I did I saw the mouse's tail twitch just enough to compel me to decide to wait an hour or so, at least long enough for the thing to quit moving.
I'd only taken a few steps back towards my office, however, when I was hit by a thought. When the Native Americans killed an animal, they would always take a moment to honor their kill and send the animal's soul back to spirit. So I turned and faced the rodent, honored it briefly and wished it a safe journey back to mouse Valhalla.
This was a silly moment, of course, of no consequence. No doubt, Native Americans would be appalled that I would give the same significance to killing a pathetic little rodent as they did to hunting great buffalo or deer for the purpose of staying alive. The PETA people would be irate, not only because I'd killed a creature instead of humanely trapping it and returning it to the wild, but because I'd left it twitching on the floor instead of taking steps to put it out of it's misery. But it was a moment of small insight nonetheless.
The insight I gained had little to do with the mouse or the brief moment I spent honoring the creature as it went through its final transition. Instead, as I returned to the computer and the work that was waiting for me, I began to think about all of the other insights I'd gained from reading about and studying different spiritual practices. Without exception, every spiritual practice I've learned about has somehow enriched my life.
From the Buddhists I've learned the value of compassion, and that in a sick world one must become as emotionally and mentally healthy as possible in order to aid others. From the Wiccans I've learned that the earth is not just a collection of rocks, dirt, weeds, trees, animals and insects, but that this planet is a living, breathing being and that each of us is just a molecule connected to the whole. From the Christians I've learned the Golden Rule, from the Jews that forgiveness must be earned, from the Muslims that God is good. From the Mystery Schools I've learned that the universe is filled with symbols that are keys to expanded awareness.
The little country mouse that was fatally tempted by my cheap crunchy-style peanut butter knew nothing of this. He only knew that he wanted a warm place to stay with plenty of food, free from owls, hawks and other predators. The tiny little mouse died without knowing that he would give me the gift of a tiny little insight.
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2003 by AlternativeApproaches.com
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