The metal hat dance

The thing I really don't like, more than finding a piece of mouse poop on my bedside table (yes, folks that'd be right next to my HEAD!!), is when Mickey decides to eat so daintily from the jaws of death that it's not quite a clean snap across the back of his noggin. And he therefore pirouettes across the floor with a metal trap strapped to him, which shakes and clunks. And wakes me up.

Geez. How inconvenient. Being woken by the sounds of a maiming [cringe to self: It's got to be done, it's got to be done, keep telling yourself]