Great Tinyness

I don't like leaving things half done (better finished or never started) so I find myself in the midst of may tiny mysteries.  What is that clanking sound I hear mornings and evenings?  Where does that subway exit take me in relation to work?  Who stole my fan, and where is it now?

We have some mice in our apartment.  I believe, using my fantastic skills of observation, that they started to move upstairs when downstairs got a dog.  And, you know, down-downstairs is a restaurant.  

So we put some traps down.  The first round, overnight, were licked clean of peanut butter.  The second round, 9 am-afternoon resulted in one dead mouse.  Round three, afternoon-night, was a crime scene.

As I approached the kitchen (ground zero), I saw that one trap had been overturned.  After turning on the light, I realized there was a great smear of blood and a lesser trail of blood--a mouse tail, tracking the progress from hit to escape under the oven.  Gross.

Then--not knowing that Alice had been home since that morning and reset the traps, discarding the ripe one--I realized only three of the original four remained.  What happened to the other?  In my quest for answers, this one hit me like a brick wall:  the mice teamed up and carried a fallen comrade away.  Like a rodent Sheba on a palanquin.  

These are my thoughts.  Signing off...