We listen to the industrious scratching of mouse feet all through November.
We fret, threaten, and plan.
We purchase mouse traps in December and begin to kill the little bastards
with relish, throughout the holidays and beyond. It never ends.
By February we've grown tired of the killing-
bulging eyes, bloody limbs, the sounds of desperate struggle from the pantry's bowels.
The furry gray ones have begun to look so cute, and pathetic under the cruel snappers.
March brings rapprochement, an unspoken agreement to stop the killing...
until December.
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