Caught another mouse tonight. I guess it's the fact that the apartment building is in the midst of renovations, or maybe the change in weather, or probably both. But I'm so over the mouse.
Why do the mice follow me around? I am the Pied Piper or Piper Peraboo of nothing. When eventually I'm famous - or even better, notorious -- and someone writes a thinly-veiled novel about my life, they'll throw in stories about the mouse, and people will think it's made up, and book groups will form and talk about what the mouse means. Is it a symbol for how small and insignificant we can feel in the face of a huge and senseless universe? Is it a symbol for the dark side in all of us, capable of killing (by glue trap) when adequately provoked (as symbolized by mouse poop on counter)? Is it an esoteric literary reference to the Gunther Grass' novella Katz und Maus, which I was forced to read in college, in its original German? (I use the term "read" very liberally, since I was never as good at the reading of the German as I was at the drinking of the German beers.)
Man I hate the mouse.
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