A Better Mousetrap

About every six months, a mouse will find its way into my house. They are usually met with all-out, scorched-earth chemical warfare, but as you can tell by the poison block he'd been gnawing on for the past week, this guy was some sort of mutant übermaus who not only ate the stuff but played with the block like a cat. The last straw was when he pushed it down the stairs in the middle of the night, and it banged against my bedroom door at 4:00am with a sound like a gunshot.

The mouse had to die. And it just happens that even the poison-eating übermaus was no match for a clip trap and a little dab of margarine.