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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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La petite souris

A month ago, TA and I spotted a mouse in my studio. The mouse was small, gray and pretty scruffy-looking. He was running along the baseboard under my windows, darting between my space and the neighbor’s through a little hole in the wall. I was on the phone with Gentry when it happened.

I was torn between actual traps and humane ones, but TA made me understand that I’d better manage with the humane ones.

So we bought some, threw in some cheese, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Every day when I come to my studio, I check the traps. Here’s how I check the traps: I just look at them, and if the doors are open, everything’s fine.

Or so the thinking goes…

Not 15 minutes ago, TA and I arrived at my studio and what do you know? One of the traps had a closed door! So TA picked up the trap, rattled it, and said “It feels empty. That’s weird.”

Holding the trap away from him, he opened up the door, peeked inside and guess what? It wasn’t empty! There was an entire, little deflated mouse in there, 100% dead. And it seemed as though he’d been in there for a while. But how could he have been in there, and not rocked the trap forward to trigger the door closing mechanism?

Maybe he died from the old cheese? Or perhaps from the cold? (There are at least 10 inches of snow on the ground today.) Or loneliness? Maybe the mouse knew he was going to die and crawled in there to do so in private? Like a cat? Are cats and mice similar in that way? Do humans prefer dying in private?

This is why I don’t so much as own a goddamn goldfish. There are way too many ontological questions to ponder.

1:19 p.m. - 2005-12-09

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