The mice nesting in Lauren Stover’s Victorian couch declined to vacate her apartment. So she kept them all winter and finally disposed of them at Yaddo.
May rolled around, and Paul drove me and the mice to Yaddo, the artists’ retreat in Saratoga Springs. The mice spun around on their wheel even as the car bumped along. The wee guests lived with me in the “Pink Room” that Truman Capote had once occupied, and I soothed their wheel in perpetual motion with olive oil to keep the maid from hearing it squeak. Writers came to my room for a salon, but even those who regularly expose the dark or alternative side of humankind — i.e., A.M. Homes and Linda Yablonsky — knew nothing of my mice. Edgar Allan Poe may have written “The Raven” at Yaddo, but pets were verboten.