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A special message to the man walking in front of me through the T station this morning:
Dear sir,
You are wearing way too much cologne. Walking behind you is like walking through the men�s toiletries section of a major department store. Please tone it down.
Love,
Jenistar
~~~~~
It almost feels like spring outside today. The Harvard Medical School grounds have green shoots coming up in the well-manicured mini-lawns. I was so happy to see the green that I almost forgot how tired and crappy I feel this morning.
We had a mouse in my house again last night.
Now, I don�t hate the mice in general. They�re welcome to stay in Sarah�s basement if they want to come in out of the cold and rain. But I cannot sleep if I can hear one in the house. I just can�t.
One time, there was one in the Artboy�s bedroom. He chased it for an hour, but he couldn�t catch the damn thing. Finally, he gave up and went back to sleep. I sat up and watched for its little eyes all night.
Last night, again, I could hear it over by the closed doors that separate my room from the living room (my bedroom isn�t actually a bedroom, but was designed to be our apartment�s living room, with big doors that open into what was meant to be a dining room). I was just about ready for bed when I heard the telltale rustling and the shaking of the doors.
Very quietly, I crept across the room and peeked behind my bookshelf. No mouse.
The door started to shake a little bit again. Little sucker was in the living room.
I turned the hall light on and stood in the doorway, looking over to the closed-door area. Right in front of where the two closed doors meet is a paper bag with pieces of the Sunday paper in it. I�ve been sorting it for the recycling, but had left the bag there. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized I could see a tail sticking out of the end of the bag.
Quickly, I grabbed a big bowl from the kitchen and snuck up on the pile. The tail was absolutely motionless. For a moment, I wondered if I�d scared him to death.
Slowly, as he heard no other signs of life, the mouse began to move. He backed out and turned to run. I stuck the bowl over him, trapping him in that spot on the carpet. He started squealing loudly and running around the perimeter of his new prison.
I slid a piece of the newspaper under the bowl, making it easy to move, and then slid the whole thing toward the front door. I opened the door and tipped the bowl toward the front porch, watching the mouse tumble out and freeze again, trying his mousy best to become invisible.
We stood and regarded each other for a moment, and then I shut the door, leaving him outside. To the best of my knowledge, he didn�t come back in. At least, he stayed away from anywhere I could hear him. And I listened through half-sleep all night.
The newspapers go out today. I will never let a pile of them build up again.
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