Intriguing, though, that this taxidermist wants her mice not quite standing up on their hindlegs but sitting on their bottoms, like mice from children’s books. No mouse that I have ever seen, alive or dead, takes this position, with forelegs spread out as if about to welcome you to its breast, or as if in the middle of a speech alongside George Galloway. And mice never look sweaty like these three, particularly that one on the right, whose eyes have bulged out so much, you immediately think of poison. Three blind mice, no: three poisoned mice. They have been overstuffed, here, I think, and perhaps that is why their legs are spread: they are like the obese people so many of us have become, who sit and eat and watch the telly, arms and legs pushed to the sides to allow as much space for rolls of flesh and hours of flatulence. I truly love these mice. And I remember now, the mouse I owned years ago, with large grey testicles, by the name of Charlotte.