There are two living things in this world that I find incredibly, horribly, noxiously repulsive. Those first of these is mice.
It is widely acknowledged that mice are evil. They make scritchy scratchy noises and they scurry rather than run. They crawl under your bed or into your trash or into the kitchen at work and they wait for you to look in the opposite direction and then run. So your eye pops in their direction, you see them, and you have no choice but to shriek. It's a natural physical response to such a horror.
When I lived with my friend Tracey, we would shriek and flee, or shriek and try to corner, depending on the situation. We would then put out mousetraps spread with peanut butter or cheese. My bedroom was closest to both the kitchen and the living room, so I was normally the one to hear the snap. And so we would go into the Dead Mouse Room, use a piece of cardboard to nudge the trap (along with its resident dead mouse) into a box. We would then wrap the box firmly with packaging tape and put it outside on the fire escape until the next trash day.
Why? Because you never know what a dead mouse would do if you just put him a trashcan. It could become a killer zombie mouse. We just couldn't take that chance.