The German translation for ‘Orkan’ is, in fact, a hurricane. However, without the sea and water, I can’t call this wind a hurricane. However, it’s one of the worst I’ve ever experienced in Calgary (49 km/phr). Obviously, listening to my partner complain about Calgary and Alberta-related stuff gives me anxiety. And he won’t ever stop. On purpose.
I still love this city because of the insightful memories. And I can’t deny that I feel homey here. The truth is that my current experience with Calgary is entirely different when with him than it would be if I were by myself. Suppose I wouldn’t be in the Northwest, not to mention in a house. With COVID, the routine is different too. I still haven’t returned to RepsolSport. We’re in a place where I can’t easily walk to my preferred destinations. We’re car-bound, and I don’t drive in a city like that. He makes me dependent on him.
My anxiety level is high today due to the lack of sleep, the sound of the carport tarp resisting the wind gust, as though the frames are coming off. I had nightmares of hurricanes and tornados. To top that, I killed a young mouse. It wasn’t the same one that we didn’t catch earlier this autumn; we supposed that one had left our home right after falling into a bucket from which it escaped. That one was a grown-up mouse, whereas the one I killed last night was probably no older than a few months.
Since mice are too smart to go into a humane trap, they often fall for the peanut butter on the spoon handle trick. I balanced the spoon on the countertop with the bucket underneath and went to bed to let the nocturnal creature do its thing.
Sometime after 2 a.m., I heard my dog squeaking outside the bedroom and assumed that he’d needed to go out (which he doesn’t usually). I went into the kitchen and saw him hovering his snout over the bucket. The stove light wasn’t bright enough, so I turned on the main light.
There I found the drowned mouse in the bucket. I didn’t mention that I’d put water in it, probably an inch high. Some how-to manuals suggested water, as it would restrict them from jumping high. Since the first mouse in the bucket managed to jump up to the edge of the bucket, I thought that more water was required. But I didn’t expect to see the little one—drowned. It must have been so much more agonizing than a snap trap itself.
My dog just looked at me, disappointed, probably thinking that I’m a killer. He must have felt so much empathy for that creature in distress and didn’t know what to do. If only he’d barked right away when hearing the spoon hit the bottom of the bucket. But who am I blaming here? I miscalculated the water height. I should’ve used a taller bucket than the flaming mop bucket. Then, I probably wouldn’t have needed any water.
My dog is still giving me the “You’re a killer”-look. After all, I killed it in my own hurricane.
I threw the mouse in the compost.
