The mice, however, they don't do so well.

Went to the toilet at two in the morning. Flicked on the light and opened the door. A frantic mouse has it's tail stuck in a glue trap; it has dragged the trap halfway across the tiny room. It is squeeking madly. I jump and swallow a scream. Oh shit. What do I do? Everybody is asleep. At the sight of me, the little brown mouse tries to make a hasty retreat through the cardboard confines of the trap. It becomes more entangled. Its squeeking subsides. I look around -- what am I looking for? There is nobody to solve this problem for me. I could wake up the french boy, but what will he do? Murder the pitiful little creature? That is what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? Murder it. I pick up the glue trap. Feeble squeeking in my direction. The mouse pops its little head out and looks at me. It cannot move, it is utterly glued. I carry it to the kitchen window. I take a deep breath. I put the little death cage down to open the window. One. Two. Three. I toss it into the unused back garden, two floors down. I hear a long squeeeeeeeek grow softer before a gentle thud, and then silence. I look around again, and close the window. I look around for another trap to replace the one I've . . . discarded, but I can't find one. I go back to the toilet and pee.