The Trouble with Spikol; Mice to Meet You; Welcome to the House That Fievel Built.
Philadelphia Weekly › August 04, 2009
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Summary
This question-not "What's for dinner?" not "Will you take the trash out?" not "Can you 'borrow' more printer paper from the office?"-is the constant refrain heard in my apartment these days. It's usually asked-by me, in person or via telephone-whenever Vince, my boyfriend, pauses for just half a second near the plastic tub we have on top of a shaky-legged thrift-store table in our living room.
I didn't buy a pregnant female that day. Instead I bought two males, who tried to kill each other immediately after they recovered from the terror of being trapped in a tiny cardboard box on the front seat of a Honda Accord. So I ran back to the pet store, double-parked out front, and thrust them into the saleswoman's hands. "They're going to kill each other," I told her. "You have to take them back."I wish I could trust her to nurse them and protect them like a normal mother would, but every time I hear them peep, I bend over the cage-or ask Vince to-to make sure there isn't a mousey version of Medea in progress. Now that they're here-lacking eyes, it's true, but here nonetheless-I don't want to lose them. I've suffered too much rodent grief already.See the full content of this document
Extract
The Trouble with Spikol; Mice to Meet You; Welcome to the House That Fievel Built.
"Did she eat her babies yet?"
This question-not "What's for dinner?" not "Will you take the trash out?" not "Can you 'borrow' more printer paper from the office?"-is the constant refrain heard in my apartment these days. It's usually asked-by me, in person or via ...See the full content of this document
