Dead Mouse
My apartment is, apparently, a rodent graveyard. One in the kitchen, another somewhere putrifying in the walls. I've been away for too long now, and only now, after massive cleaning, scented candles, packs of incense, chemical deoderizers, and a whole host of remedies just this side of voodoo, is it habitable. David Rakowski thinks I should write a protest song--any ideas?
posted by Daniel at 3:40 PM
2 Comments:
There's that Robert Burns "Wee, cowrin', tim'rous beastie" poem. I'd say set it in Scots, with highland bagpipes. (I often think that everything that's allegedly wrong with classical music these days could be cured by a liberal application of highland bagpipes.)
I had a mouse move into my first lousy apartment in Boston. He ate cheese potato chips and doughnut crumbs and kept me company for about three months before disappearing. Like so many Boston musicians, I have a sneaking suspicion he gave up on the scene and moved to New York.
To the chorus of Blur's "Country House," from The Great Escape: There once was a mouse, a very big mouse/In the kitchen/I tried to clean it out, tried to clean it out/and to pitch it." The rest is up to you.
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