my bleeding heart

My building is an old factory warehouse full of residences. Mice are part of the deal; something to accept, embrace, and deal with maturely. That means knowing the difference between 'having mice' and 'having a mouse problem'. It means keeping your food in containers and out of reach, and keeping the place generally free of crumbs and so forth. In other words, a mouse problem is most often a human problem first and foremost. There are those, however, who are primarily interested in preserving the sanctity of home and the sovereignty of human dominant occupation of the sanctified and purified home. Asking the questions of responsibility and acceptance do not enter into it. Seeing a mouse translates directly into eliminating the pest. It's a matter of wiring, and it's nobody's fault. However, it does not excuse the use of sticky traps. And there's, as they say, the rub...
A few days ago, our resident dog, by sniffing and acting generally questionable, alerted us to the presence of these sticky traps in our apartment, and their efficacy at catching--but not physically harming--small pesky varmint. The presumptive purpose of this type of 'pest control' is that the human now has the messy business of yanking the poor bugger's mortal coil. Maybe that's supposed to teach us a lesson, but I of course did not set the trap, and felt unfairly saddled with a moral burden. I, of course, don't need no lessons.
For help in this matter, I of course turned to Google with the question: can a mouse survive if it is coated in a layer of gunk that causes it to stick to everything?
Blogged anecdotes of the past and complaints like this one were all I found, and they all led to a depressing conclusion: there's no hope. They either suffer or you end it for them. And so, it was a tough morning. For the sad record, I opted for drowning, as I concluded that it offered the cleanest chance for the spirit to leave the body. Ample preparation and then fade, and we won't mention the panic. I gave it apology and blessing, and watched it happen, every moment, and I do believe it was better than the suggested 'whack it with a shovel' or 'toss it in the dumpster' methods.
Sure that I had done the best I knew how to do, but suspecting there was a better way, I went on with my day. I did an inspection of the apartment to make sure there were no more of these horrid traps around.
But I was less than thorough in both of my investigations, as I would find exactly 24 hours later.
So the next day, which was yesterday, I emerged from my room to find the dog behaving suspiciously yet again, and I immediately knew what was happening. So I had a lesson to learn after all. Determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past I did some deeper investigation. And apparently, a coating of vegetable oil at least causes the glue to lose its immediate effect of sticking to everything. So I peeled the victim off of its deathbed, and bathed it in oil. Lo and behold, when placed in a bucket--yes, the very bucket in which the previous mouse was sent to its doom--our second specimen now had the ability to scamper and leap. And now, I have a pet.
I have learned from this experience that it is best to investigate and analyze completely until the immediate emotional impulse--or panic--has worn off. Bob Engel once taught me this, and it therefore must apply universally. If you think your jacket has been stolen, wait a day or two before tossing around accusations, because you might find the jacket in that time. It's a lesson that will pound you over your head your entire life until you really learn it.
I am sorry to mouse number one, and thankful to mouse number two. Together, they have improved me.
So what's next for number two? Well, banking on survival, I'm thinking... class pet? For the moment, I have named it Norman 252-B.