I killed a baby mouse today. At first I thought it was dryer lint on the stairs. Then it moved. So I got Puddy. She just looked at it. Turns out she was uninterested because she’d eaten Mama Mouse during the night. Which explains the kerfuffle under our bed at 3:30 am. So when Little Lint Mouse ran down the stairs and scared Suzy out the front door, Puddy still standing by unmoved, I did what any man would do. I tossed a book at it. “My Perfect Life.” In front of my kids. It dropped the poor thing like a piece of Montreal overpass. One little paw stuck out beyond the spine as if in surrender. Too late. Mama Mouse was later found regurgitated on my bed.
And in other news, I spent an entire day with a Radio Canada TV crew last week. They followed me around and had me change clothes three times for four interviews for the show, “Croisee des Chemins” — about people who make choices that lead them in new and fulfilling directions. I’m not sure how I got through it. Or if I really did.
I haven’t spoken as much French since 1987 at university in Nice. And back then my second language skill was enlivened by robust wines. The RC crew was gentle with me. Several times the director assured me that the “people of Quebec love to see an anglophone really try.” Yes. They call it Just for Laughs.
