Death toll rises
And the carnage in my kitchen continues. The trap line is really working: body count this morning was 2. I may sound cruel as I continue with this mousicide, but I really don't want them pooping on my counter and poking around in my pantry. Last winter they ate an entire bag of lentils before I even noticed. So call me a cold-hearted killer, but this is a fall ritual at my house. When it gets cold the mice come inside. I know I'll never be able to kill them all, but I'd like to cut down on the population. If I weren't allergic to cats, if I didn't have 2 dogs who love to chase cats (a lot) and if I didn't think a cat would be killed by a coyote, owl or fisher, then I might consider getting one.

When I walked down the path my brother made for me, from my house to the road below it, I discovered human poop in the middle of the path. GROSS!!! There's a house being built below my house so of course I assumed it came from one of the workers. I called the contractor, who lives on the other side of the lake, and he was really offended (after being grossed out). His men would never do something like that, and they've already put in the septic system so they have a toilet to use on site. Well, how embarrassed was I! I felt terrible and sorry that I had called--fell all over myself apologizing. I didn't know he was such a conscientious neighbor. I guess it's better to have called from my perspective, rather than obsess and think poorly of him. I think we left things ok but I was still sorry I'd called.

I also called the man I had hoped would agree to be my plowman this winter. No, he doesn't want to--he lives too far away. But he's such a wonderful man that he said if I ever get in a bind he'll come and plow me out. I've just encountered so many nice people lately, it makes me feel really good about my neighborhood. And most of them are men, which is even better, I think.

But of course that leaves me still searching for a plow man. Guess I'll have to put the word out. I'd like to call the contractor back because I think he could probably come up with someone, but I'm too embarrassed so will wait before calling (if I call at all).

I'm cataloging the Robert Louis Stevenson collection again. The woman who works with it sent back a bunch of stuff I'd done before, with corrections like publisher's names I'd spelled wrong. Yikes, who would have thought she'd check out every single word in the record. So now it's taking me a much longer time to do the work because I have to type more slowly and read everything over at least once. I suppose that could be called "doing my job."