Betty, as in Apple Brown.

Another mouse. Her name is Betty, as in Apple Brown. She's tiny, and resides under the kitchen sink, and takes her weekends under our couch. Her hobbies include running across the floor, stealing take-out crumbs, tormenting my Rabbit with her freedom, and being a pain in the ass. My roommate suggested we trap her, and set her free outside. I suggested we leave a trail of breadcrumbs to a shoebox, where inside Def Leppard is playing from a tiny boombox, and there's a small six-pack of Bud.

Where's the Mousey?

Dead. Wedged between the front door, and the frame. In the fetal position. Her name was Andromeda, and I'm sure she lived a good life, feeding off my roommates scraps. She's currently draped in Bounty, awaiting a peaceful swim towards Staten Island. It's quite amusing, because the mega-crazy roommate has barefooted quite close to the "body", completely unaware of a cold, dead creature imediatly to her right.

In startling similar news, my roommate loaned me a copy of the Bell Jar. Imagine zany me, reading a book such as that? Some were concerned it would deeply affect me, due to the familiar subject matter. Of course it did not. There were no revelations to be had, with the Bell Jar. If anything it really jogged my clouded memories about the past, which will be extremely useful come memoir time.