The Mouse Wars continue these months after the summer ‘99 inception when, one sultry evening after an extended absence, I returned and drank a pint from an open water jug in which a mouse had died and dissolved. It held an aftertaste like tea along with a tail and paws. It knocked me down for a half-day. Well, three Hav-a-Heart traps evened the score, but during a second absence they ignored these and gnawed into a peanut butter bait jar, gorging for weeks, reproducing, and greeting my return with a stronger contingent. Since, I caught two-a-night and enlisted Boy Quick to chase them like a terrier. Interesting from a survival standpoint, a mouse sheds the tail outer covering to escape a predator, unlike a lizard’s tail that breaks cleanly between vertebrae and can regenerate. Boy asserted we were re-catching the same mice but I disagreed, and began marking releases with whiteout typing correction fluid and was proved correct. The ravages included a teapot and bedroom slippers brimmed with stolen elbow macaroni, a dozen 1-gallon water jugs gnawed and drained, plus a shorted electric drill with chewed wires. Ultimately, I block all entrances, de-mouse the trailers, and come out beaming.