"I just saw a mouse!", exclaimed my co-worker FunMom. In our office. Where we work, eat, do everything. It was all we could do to grab our laptops and hurry out, pulling the door behind us.

This was a big deal to us, but not to the people who deal with pests on campus all of the time. To them, a mouse is a larger cockroach, but easier to catch.

We debated going back into our office for a while, Funmom opting to travel down the hallway to another room. I opted to vacuum to discourage our little friend from setting up residence. I think that just flushed him out. I saw him scurrying around like...well, a mouse. He hid in my corner near my bookcase. I tried to remove any attractively dark corners for him to hang out in.

And then I very quietly went back to work.

And still pest control didn't come.

From time to time, I'd look back at the corner, hoping for a glimpse of it. I had the plastic cone that covers my pile of blank CDs ready to slam on top of it. I tried to think like a mouse. Where might food sources be? There were some architectural blueprints in the corner; would a mouse eat them? What about a wooden bookcase? Is that tasty to a mouse? What about my sweaty biking clothes? Yes or no?

The pest control guy came the next day and he started to place little traps all about. I joked with him about bringing in my cat, which he didn't take very well. Evidently he doesn't like cats that hunt. He said he'll do a better job of catching the mice himself. Monty's not much of a hunter anyway.

And, about 10 minutes after he left, I heard a trap snap.

I turned around to see a tiny mouse flailing to get out of the trap. I slammed the CD cone on top of it, and weighted it down a heavy SQL book. It was still flailing around, even though it had worked its way free of the trap. But it was now captured.

I marched down to my boss's office to report the progress.

He looked at me..."Do you want to take care of this yourself or would you rather I do it?"

I paused. I wasn't looking forward to sliding a piece of hard plastic clipboard under the CD cone and carrying Mr. Injured Mouse to the outside, but I could probably do it. But...here I had someone offering to do it for me.

"Yes, please."

I felt like such a girl. Eek! A mouse. Pray tell, good sir, dispose of its body for me! I must collapse now onto my fainting couch to recover from the revulsion!

He walked down and scooted it onto the clipboard, still covering it with the CD cone. "He's got a broken leg, and he's bleeding." LIke he felt sorry for it.

Yes, and he's disease carrying vermin. Get it out of my sight.

The office is safe again. Until next week.