Lately I've been hearing the pitter-patter of little feet. Mostly late at night when I'm trying to sleep, or when I wake up from having been asleep, and suddenly I'm the kind of awake where I know I won't be falling back asleep again any time soon. Suddenly my eyes fly open, wide and sightless in the dark, my body stiff, listening. What is that? And then it comes again--a low whooshing and then a scribble-scrabbling as the sound dopplers away in the ceiling directly over my head. Sometimes it comes from the wall behind me. Though I know it's silly, I can't stop my heart from racing, and I spend the next two hours trying and failing to get back to sleep. It happens just often enough to lull me into complacency--maybe it's done now, I'll think--and then ten minutes later, or twenty, there it is again. Whoooooooosh, clickclickclickclick, and I involuntarily cringe, and wrap myself tighter in the covers.
But I know what this is. This is karmic retribution. Once upon a time in a former life I was a tormentor of mice, and now they are here to exact their revenge. I would almost be able to appreciate the irony of the situation, if I wasn't so cranky from the lack of sleep.
So what's up, mice? Why you gotta be so nocturnal? Come on, mice, I've changed, really. I'm not the same person I was. So how's about I promise that I will no longer practice amateur brain surgery on you or your brethren, and you limit your scurrying business to the daylight hours, eh? Your kind is known for being fair and reasonable, so I'm sure we can all work out a mutually acceptable agreement, here. Don't make me get out my rubber gloves and my syringe.