Murine update

From the World Museum Liverpool.

So far, no further sightings or encounters in the traps. Tonight I'm going to pick up some humane live-catch traps at a hardware store. The plan is to take any captured enemy combatants down to the park, where they can be released to live free and/or become snacks for the coyotes and not try to get into my stuff. I thought I had the steely nerve and callous nature required for using the glue traps, but it turns out that I don't. So much for my carnivorous nature.

The experience of having to, as it were, shoot my own mouse sheds new light on one of my previous job's responsibilities: explaining to incensed researchers that our house style required saying that they had "killed" or "humanely killed," rather than "sacrificed," their mice. Privately, the staff agreed that we would change the policy if we ever received evidence that an experiment had called for building a mouse-scaled pyramid, complete with sacrificial platform or chac mool, and dressing one or more of the mice in the appropriate outfits. The necessary recordings of high-pitched chanting could be provided as online appendixes to the main article. It is possible that we derived too much entertainment from creating these scenarios, but considering that the alternative was awarding Geek of the Week points to one another ("Where does the word 'tatters' come from, anyway?" "I don't know offhand, but I imagine that it shares the root with 'tatting,' to make lace, since that's a fine mesh with large holes in it." "Aaaand you're the geek of the week." "This from someone who referenced the Bradshaw shift's effect on spelling at yesterday's farewell party?" "Fine, fine, dork of the day, then"), we made our peace with it.

As a post-script to our earlier conversation, dear мышки, I should add that I have locked up the Tim Tams, so don't even think you're getting any of that fine Arnott's cane-sugar chocolate wafer in chocolate coating goodness. Should I detect you making any attempts, however, the gloves come off and I put out cajeta. You'll get severely stuck in it and you'll develop diabetes. For serious, now: Don't mess with the 'Tams.