Mice

Have giving up fiction that murdered mouse a bachelor. Last night set trap and catch mouse immediately. Brain provides unhelpful image of walls heaving with rodent bodies. Try, while gulping wine, to look at bright side. At least all glue traps disposed of. Mouse caught in the sort of trap much like traditional wood and metal style except that mechanism and body covered up by black plastic structure. Feel that design slightly more hygenic, except that though body covered up, tail still protruding. Find tail the least appealing feature of the mouse. Am alone except for Jenny, and both snap of trap and sight of tail produce screams (from me.) Jenny disinterested to the extreme. Removes herself from room and takes nap on bed. Meanwhile, go through farcical process of setting of trap, shrieking, disposing of trap, until three mice have met their untimely ends. Have heard that the best way to take care of mice is to plug up holes in wall with steel wool. Find steel wool in Dave's toolbox, which seems like good sign. Drink second glass of wine. Bright side becoming more evident by the minute. After vacuuming and bleaching area under radiator, stuff steel wool into all holes. Do not care for smell of steel wool, which has odor of creosote, but have firm belief that it will Fade. When Dave comes home, tell him in tumble of sentences about evening. He nods. Says, It Smells like Oil. Disagree strongly. He refuses to have a fight, asks, Are you a bit Tired? After restless night invlving dreams of walking through traffic clogged streets, wake up feeling like chewed up bit of string. It does smell like oil. Go on internet and find alarming stories about steel wool spontaneously combusting--stories seem to be about the sort of steel wool soaked with furniture polish, but do not care to take any chances. Fear fire much more than mice. (Question: Is this a bright side?) Remove and dispose of steel wool. Go to work. The Contessa, unlike Dave, sympathetic to the extreme about trials. We trade rodent stories. The Contessa, shuddering, tells story about how, while living in Very Dirty house in college, rats could be heard dragging their bodies through the walls at night. Evidence of rat activity could be seen in the kitchen in the morning. Ask, what do you mean by activity? The Contessa shakes her head, Don't ask. Residents of house finally put their collective feet down and Talked to the landlord. Landlord provided large rat traps. Many rats trapped and thrown away in Biohazard bags procured from the biology department. The Contessa leans in, Guess what the landlord said? Reply, What? Why didn't you save the traps? The, landlord wanted to know why we didn't Reuse the traps. This moves us onto the topic of landlords, which makes the morning zip by. In conclusion, we agree that landlords are generally dogs. No Offense to Jenny, the Contessa says. Reach lull in conversation. Have moment of delusion. Say, Maybe We will Buy. The Contessa says firmly, O you should.