Joe asked if we could keep him as a pet. I said shit no.
Then he suggested we kill him and I started crying and saying "That's somebody's mother!"... or father. I did not comfirm mouse genitalia type.
Then I released him into a nearby cemetary and giggled at the irony of him almost drowning in vegetable oil 5 minutes prior (note: vegetable oil will lube up mouse fur and destickitize a trap enough for the little guy to wiggle free)(also note: use a spoon or the cap to pour it in, lest you risk drowning him and having that permanent mark on your conscience forever)(also note again: put him in a storage bag or disposable container first because that oily little fucker will never stick to anything ever again after this).
We're dysfuntional people.
This reminds me of another little critter I met once (albeit too late).
RIP Bird Turner and Tina Tamper