Years ago, I worked in a state park nature center. One of my jobs was feeding the bull snake. There were frozen mice bagged in the freezer, ready to thaw in the microwave. Have you ever smelled nuked mouse? I do not recommend it. Especially while pregnant.
The other option was to live trap the abundant wild mice that lived in the nature center and toss one in with our snake friend. That was my usual method.
One morning, I staggered into my kitchen and popped bread into the toaster. As I fixed tea and packed my lunch, I heard scruffling somewhere in the kitchen. On the counter. Near the toaster. I smelled singed hair.
In the toaster?!?!?!
I opened the kitchen door, ripped the cord from the socket, and hurled that toaster across my yard. Bread flew as the toaster crashed and bounced across the frozen grass. I crept closer and watched one mouse stagger out of the slots. As soon as it regained it's senses, I stomped and hollered and chased that mouse clear across the street.
I soaked the toaster in Clorox, but just couldn't bring myself to use it ever again. After throwing it away, I found deep within myself an unexpected capacity for vengence. Suddenly, feeding the snake became a pleasure.
Aveline
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