Re: that mapmaking mouse (humor)

[Margaret Hayon <margaret@xxxxxxxxxxxx>]

>P.S.  KEN, The mouse that could make a map of his brain.....well, he
>died...Seems that he went the wrong way on a one way street and was run
>over by a crazed Mass. Driver across the street from his pethouse at
>M.I.T.. Flushed down the toilet this afternoon at 4:38pm, The moral of this
>event?   Never,never be envious of a mouse.
>
>glussier@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx   "OH, What A Beautiful Morning"


Thought you'd like to know - before his unfortunate demise, that mouse had
published an article on his life-experiences in the "New Scientist": I have
copied extracts below
(full text can be found at <>)
                *****************

             Advice To Mice:
             A Commentary On The Reward and Punishment Game
             Dominic Recaldin

                        There are alI manner of opportunities for white
                        mice today.
                         When I was young, it was either straight into a
                        petshop, or try to scratch a living off the
                        corporation rubbish dump. Neither was exactly a
                        bed of roses.

                        [part omitted]                        And then
                        science came, and life changed almost overnight.
                        After generations of persecution, white mice were
                        suddenly "in." Scientific research changed us from
                        being the most untouchable into the most hutchable
                        animals in the history of Man.

                        The boom began, I suppose, with medical research.
     Scientific         This is still a tremendous career outlet these
     research           days, but it is not without its attendant risks,
     changed us from    of course. You pay your penny and take your
     being the most     chance. You could be lucky and be part of a
     untouchable        skin-grafting team. Apart from finishing up like a
     into the most      harlequin quilt you come to no real harm. On the
     hutchable          other hand, you may end up in toxicology tests at
     animals in the     Porton Down. Even so, by following the age-old
     history of Man.    rule "Never Volunteer," you could stay there all
                        your life and never have a day off sick. When they
                        start to fumble around for test animals just fade
                        quietly away into a corner of the cage. The ones
                        they can't catch they invariably leave as
                        controls. Never rush or panic, as this will draw
                        their attention. And above all, don't attack them
                        -- a cornered scientist can be vicious. If all
                        else fails and they grab you anyway, pee on their
                        hand.

                        I would like to say a word here about
                        accommodation in research labs. By and large it is
                        very good. The meals are regular and the food is
                        excellent. There is room for improvement in other
                        directions, however. I wish they wouldn't persist
                        in putting down sawdust. It gets all over your
                        fur. You keep thinking you've got systemic
                        dandruff. Newspaper would be better. None of your
                        Daily Sketch rubbish though. Most of us prefer a
                        heavy daily -- the Times is a favourite,
                        especially if the crossword is on view. But for
                        God's sake change the paper every day. Never mind
                        the hygiene: what were the answers to yesterday's
                        clues?

                        I found my own metier in psychology. I run mazes
                        and things. Psychologists are pleasant,
                        simple-mind souls, and life is pretty good. Mind
                        you, you need be a cut above the average with the
                        old gray matter. They don't like dim animals doing
                        intelligence work: it takes them far too long to
                        get any results, you see. They'd never use
                        rabbits, for example. They're as thick as two
                        planks. NaturalIy, it doesn't do to be too smart
                        either. Most mazes are ineptly easy. It's all you
                        can do sometimes not to nod off in the middle of a
                        run, paralyzed with boredom. But you must appear
                        to play the game and act as though the entire
                        thing is straining the frontiers of your
                        intelligence. You scratch their back and they'll
                        scratch yours.
                        Reward-punishment games present a bit of a
                        problem. You'd think psychologists would know
                        better. I am not altogether unknown in the trade
                        as a cheese gourmet. I like nothing better than a
                        rich, ripe wedge of Stilton. And what do I get?
                        That same old indestructible cube of New Zealand
                        Cheddar, day after day. The first time I saw it I
                        nearly had a blue fit. If that's the reward, I
                        thought, what's the punishment? Quite
                        frankly, some mornings I prefer to press the wrong
                        button on purpose. Anything is preferable to that
                        pig's breakfast, even twelve volts up the hooter.


                        Reprinted with permission from The New Scientist.

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