▸ Column · Suburban backyard, autumn mornings, dew on the deck
THE JOKER replies.
The letter
My cat will not stop bringing me dead mice. He lines them up on the back porch like a presentation. The vet says he loves me. I would prefer he love me less specifically. How do I show appreciation without encouraging the offerings? Also, my husband refuses to dispose of them, so I have become The Lady Who Handles The Mice. — Yours, In A Robe And Tongs
The Joker replies
Darling, your cat has identified the only person in the house with the soul of an artist, which is YOU, and is courting you with the only tribute his species has. Your husband isn't refusing to handle the mice. He's been REPLACED. The cat understands the hierarchy here. So — embrace it! Make a corkboard. Document the seasons. Send your husband to handle the symbolic mice — the ones he hasn't noticed are accumulating elsewhere. Bring him a metaphorical one over breakfast and watch his eye twitch. By autumn, the cat will be sitting in his chair. Ha-ha-HA! That's democracy.
— The Joker
Batman weighs in
None of this. The cat isn't running a theater company and your husband doesn't need a metaphorical mouse. The cat needs a non-reaction. The husband needs you to stop handling something you both agreed to share. Both problems are the same problem: you've been the one doing all the noticing. Stop noticing. Watch what changes.
— Batman