There is a mouse problem in my school. They’re simply running the place over, and frankly, it creeps me out.

The custodial staff provides glue traps, which my animal-rights-activist student tells me are highly inhumane. I tend to believe her, as we’ve found a couple of mice trying to gnaw their legs off whilst stuck on the traps. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to buy my own alternative traps; although, I suppose no one would notice. Chalk up another out-of-pocket expense for teachers, right alongside pencils, paper, and white board markers.

Anyway, my third hour students have a contest going. They each set and bait traps, and then whoever's trap catches a mouse gets a point. They also liked to assign points for kills (imagine six fifteen-year-old boys racing out the back to drop cinderblocks on the stuck rodents), until I told them I had to put a stop to the vigilante-ism.

“Don’t tell your parents about this,” I said to one chap as he stood on my desk, planting a trap in the ceiling.

It was too late – he’d already detailed for her the mouse adventures, including the spattering of blood from the outdoor smashing. As I haven’t gotten a call, I’m assuming she doesn’t mind too much.