Isn't it funny how after a while a person adjusts to just about anything?
Just four days ago, I was in tears because it seemed as if the mice had already won. I sat at the kitchen table in the middle of the day while a mouse the size of a toddler crouched behind our stove and rattled the back cover. He did that all day long while a smaller mouse, one the size you are used to seeing, hopped up on the counter beside the stove, and walked around on his hind legs, paws on hips, sticking his tongue out at me. It happened exactly like that.
That was Thursday. By last night, when mice 7 and 8 had seen no reason not to reach for a stale piece of chocolate that for some odd reason smelled of death, I was almost entirely immune to the death chamber that has become the space between our stove and fridge.
So, killing cute little animals has become the norm around here. I'm not saying I like it by any means, but it did become easier and quite fast, too. Fortunately or unfortunately, I had to adjust to that new norm whether I wanted to or not. Sometimes I think it would be easier if more things in life were foisted upon us like that, whether we think we want them or not. Or maybe I just need to get better at doing more self-imposed foisting.