Thursday, November 1, 2012


If you're squeamish about mice you can stop reading now.

I am rather fond of them. And though I can't tell one from the other, we have several that romp around the house, most frequently around the kitchen, where they skitter across the counters when the lights are out and we're immersed in something cultural on TV, like Survivor or Dancing with the Stars.  They are usually unnoticed except for our occasional need for refreshment.

They also tend to rustle about the candy wrappers that sometimes find their way to the floor beside the bed, intermingled with the rumpled pages of 6 month old copies of the New Yorker, a toppled tower of paperbacks, and a dusty sock. Or two.  I enjoy their company on wintery evenings, bundled under my down quilt, fire crackling, nose to book. Such happy little things they sound.

If I have pause, it is only on the occasions when we have guests and I notice one or several flitting across the room, which always surprises me since they tend to be so shy. Admittedly it is a behavioral issue that needs addressing. Should they survive the Prince, we will work on it.

Look at this Face!
His most recent announcement, of a few days past, is that the health department would shut us down were we a restaurant.  Now really. Does he honestly believe that these sweet little creatures are any dirtier than Lula the Murderess who lolls around in mud puddles with her filthy tennis balls, licks her rump with a tongue coated in god knows what, and then plants that tongue on his face?

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