I’ve lived in Manhattan for almost two months now and really haven’t noticed “New Yorker rudeness.” Even though I have spared that aspect of the city, I have experienced mice living in my stove … with one baby mouse daring enough to crawl onto my counter to scope out crumbs. My brilliant cat, the same one who was scared of the giant, flying cockroach in our flat the month before, didn’t even realize the mouse was poking its little, mangy head out of a burner. Of course, I couldn’t bring myself to turn the stove on, hoping the problem would solve itself. I lifted the cat onto the counter, and eventually she did capture the mouse but … for a wonderful turn of events … brought it into our bedroom where it was turned loose into a Petco toy. Adam eventually found it the next day, leg hurt and in shocked state, between our bed and the wall. I haven’t seen a mouse since, although Whisper now patrols the stove at night … which I guess is more interesting than her staring out a window at a brick wall hoping a pigeon might toy with her instincts if she’s lucky. I am also assuming the steel wool that’s in between our walls and the floors are to prevent mice from coming in … either that or Cinderella went a bit batty. We are so moving to Brooklyn next year.