We are suffering an incursion of mice in the kitchen. This is the sort of thing the cat used to take care of, but she appears to have retired. In the evenings she’s taken to sitting in the doorway and watching as mice dance back and forth across the floor, swishing her tail and forth like she’s at a particularly enjoyable performance of The Nutcracker.
So a few nights ago we put out traps. Two different kinds; eight in all: Enough to booby-trap the main drawers and cabinets. Mr. Tingle just checked them and made this report:
1. No mice caught.
2. Peanut-butter bait has been eaten from all traps.
3. Three of the traps have been crapped on.
About the last he says, “Now I know what it’s like to be bitch slapped by a mouse.”
Terry Teachout on the arts in New York City
