Remember the story about my little friend the mouse? The one who came every night as I was watching TV and asked, "What's for dinner?" She was an insolent little brat, going into the trap, getting her meal, and getting out as if this was one of her summer residences.
So I ordered other traps. And caught her. As I went to release her into the woods, she looked at me as if to say, "Is that how you thank me for keeping you company?" The house at night felt sort of empty after that. Frasier and his brother went into their snobberies without interruption. Should I have adopted that little thing after all?
I put all my traps away. The following night, as I was going to bed, I saw a little head appear from behind a door. What the f*ck! So my friend had apparently doubled. Multiplied, actually, as you'll see. I set the traps again. And looked around the house for openings, holes, cracks. What I discovered were tunnels hardly wider than my middle finger (yes, pun intended), which I sealed and covered with bricks and tiles.
Since this past Friday, I have sent 20 mice to the forest where they belong. When caught, some go, "Now, how do I get out of this?" as they move the door slightly. Some are paralyzed with fear. Others are, "Hey, I like this peanut butter! Is there more?" And the more aggressive ones shake the door frantically and say, "Let me out of there, you bitch!"
Inevitably, I do. Let them out. Hoping they'll stay there.