Over the last two months, a mischief of mice has emerged in The Daily Cardinal office. During this period, the rodents have received reactions ranging from abject fear to calls for them to become office pets.
While traps have been a mainstay in the office, the battle will soon escalate, as a disappointing conclusion has been drawn — unlike Remy from “Ratatouille,” the mice have absolutely no potential to become chefs.
All involved knew that the odds of the mice possessing culinary talent were low. After all, Remy was a rat, not a mouse. Expecting anything different would be like searching an Italian Greyhound for weed just because they look vaguely like Snoop Dogg. Still, like the fact that Mr. Dogg and Martha Stewart don’t appear to have a THC edibles line yet, it’s a bummer.
It’s not as if the mice were not given the opportunity to test their culinary skills. After all, the refrigerator is stocked with questionably spotless two month-old white bread, moldy cheese, a Tupperware container that appears to have had spaghetti in it at some point and various plastic bags full of mysteries I am not willing to uncover. Plus, the microwave automatically turns on if its door is shut — the mice didn’t even have to know how to operate the buttons.
One anonymous Cardinal staffer has good reason to be angry with one mouse in particular.
“After being startled by this one mouse running across my feet several times, I’d had about enough. I spotted him hanging out behind the sawed in half porn couch in the corner and was like ‘Hey guy, you owe me.’ So I gave him two dollars in quarters and told him to get me something from the vending machine before I got back from class.”
The staffer continued, “I returned a couple hours later to see one of my quarters sitting in the middle of the office floor and the associate news editor eating a cinnamon Pop-Tart. Surprise surprise, I then found the mouse feasting on the Pop-Tart’s frosting-less edges. That bastard stole my money.”
In a perfect world, the rodents would’ve never entered the office, instead living full and peaceful lives elsewhere. However, they are now feasting on the remnants of snacks from weeks (years?) gone by. These are reserved for Cardinal staff — when you’ve been working for five hours, sometimes the craving for that quarter of a pretzel on the floor that has been seasoned by the sidewalk salt stuck to the bottom of office goers’ shoes strikes.
While a work order has already been sent in for the removal of these critters, there is some hope for them. If a mouse brings in something nice — perhaps a 12-pack of Sun Drop or a decent Lean Cuisine — all shall be forgiven.
That being said, to reiterate, the floor pretzels are mine.
Mackenzie is the first ever editor of The Beet and actually made of over 62% beet.
