North End Moment XXV
Walking back to my office just now from the mail room, I spotted a little mouse on the hardwood floor in front of the elevator. I stepped on its tail to trap it and quickly realized that I had in fact trapped myself. If I moved, it'd escape. I didn't want to pick it up by its tail -- I'm not squeamish, but I'm not that brave, either -- so all I could do was wait for someone to get off the elevator or walk through the part of the office I was trapped in. Luckily, Tim quickly came along.

"Could you tell someone that I caught a mouse? I'm not quite sure what to do."
"Sounds like a job for Cynthia or Sylvia."

Soon, several people gathered by the elevators to watch me and the mouse. Sylvia soon came with a sticky trap: the Waltham Watchman. We put it on top of the mouse, who promptly died, perhaps from shock. It was pretty shocked when I stepped on it. Then we folded it over to cover the whole mouse and put it in a plastic bag for disposal.

Here is the dilemma. I don't like the idea of killing mice. They're living things. Kinda cute, too, when you look at them. But they shouldn't live in our office -- or our office building, really. As Sylvia said, "They're pests," and pests spread pestilence. So we kill them. How would you have handled this? Catch and release on the back alley? Some other method?