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Four little mice

The other night on my way home from work I bought four little white mice for Meph’s dinner.  It would have made sense to feed the snake as soon as I got home, but I was tired and my work clothes were driving me crazy, so I dropped the box of live mice on our bed while I changed, washed the subway off my hands and got a drink of water.

Several hours later, after I’d finished writing my weekly report and after we’d eaten dinner, washed the dishes, walked the dogs, cleaned the litter box and were brushing our teeth for bed, I remembered about the mice.

I rushed to the bedroom.  The box was right where I’d left it, only now instead of being a rectangular cardboard box, it was a rectangular cardboard box with a large hole chewed out of one corner.  I gasped.

Mike poked his head into the bedroom.  “What’s wrong?”
I whirled around. “Oh god.  I’m so sorry.  I did something really stupid.  I’m so, so, so sorry.”
Concern flashed in Mike’s eyes.  “What happened?”
I shook my head, buried my face in my hands and began a continuous stream of apologies.

That was when Mike saw a mouse scurrying across his pillow.

Luckily, store-bought mice are not as clever and wily as city mice.  The mouse on the pillow was easily scooped up and dropped into Meph’s waiting jaws. We found mice two and three crouching between boxes of camping equipment under the bed and mouse four was in the closet amongst our shoes.  After each little mouse had been collected and eaten, Mike looked at me sternly and asked if I’d learned a lesson.  I nodded enthusiastically.  It’s one thing to have a mouse problem because you live in the city; it’s another thing entirely to have purchased the mice yourself.