August 25, 2005
Hey mouse!
How is it that a mouse -- arguably pretty low on the brain-size ladder -- knows just when a professional woman's husband will be away on business, so that aforementioned professional woman will dance around the kitchen making little screamy sounds as the mouse -- it's back legs stuck to a sticky glue trap, which the professional woman smugly set up earlier this evening -- drags itself under the electric stove, knowing full well that professional woman cannot (and will not) move the stove alone, especially when there's a half-stuck mouse under there.
Even if you get away, mouse, your hind legs will forever be stuck to that glue trap, which turned out to be too small to stop you from running away, but I was in a hurry and the store was out of the big ones.
But in the end, I have won, mouse. In the best case scenario, your friends will laugh as you watch them on swingsets and merry-go-rounds as you sit in your specially-constructed mouse stroller, sip nutrients through a feeding tube and form mechanical sentences with little puffs of air that are turned into sound by a computer and you will forever sound like a little furry Steven Hawking.
Or you will die and rot under my stove.