The Dirt Field

The mice are alive and well. They spend the majority of their time running around underneath the bedding in a network of shifting tunnels and burrows, but occasionally venture out to play and eat. And eat and eat and eat. Those two little rodents eat a few tons of seeds every week. It must be why their ears have grown so big. Like little elephant mice.

At least I have a back-up plan in the event that I lose interest in the pet mice:

That’s only a joke. To be honest, I’m such a stupid sucker for little animals that I already feel sad when I think about either of the mice reaching the end of their short lifespans. I almost wish it would turn out that I have a male and a female, and thus an unending succession of baby mice to love, but that would create its own problems. Two mice are cute; two to the Nth power mice sounds like something that would put me on the evening news. “The smell became so overwhelming,” Lindsay’s neighbors told CNN Reporters, “that we finally had to call the Health Department. They carried out cages of thousands of mice, while Lindsay chased after them pulling at her clothes and screaming, ‘My babies!'”

In other news, my dreams of them spending hours running on their wheel have been crushed. They are too small to make the wheel turn.