Number nine was true marksmanship! The little squeaker ran across the top of the pegboard when I entered the garage and jumped up to the rafter above the back wall. Just before jumping around a stud, my pellet hit it's mark. I watched in astonishment as the little bugger actually continued fleeing to behind the shelf above the garage. I waited for him to come out the other side until I heard a quick continuous scratching sound above me. I knew that sound well. It was the sound of the beginning of the end of just one of the little grey pests in my garage. Finally, it's twitching head emerged from the other side of the shelf and continued to slide into the obligatory ten foot drop onto the cold hard cement floor where it expired.
The little firework thingy is where he got hit.
Entrance wound. Don't ask me why he has blood on his cheek.
That's the exit wound. You can tell because of the way he was running in the picture above.