A Schrödinger Mouse

by Richard Tornello

It's a fact the cat is dead.
Nineteen years old; no more be said.
So now with puss gone, deceased,
in my house there is a mouse.

Sometimes. . . Definitely . . . I hear one
Or
Then other times think I, maybe, a few?
Scurrying, scratching in the wall,
then in the attic above us all.
I set a trap; it doesn't take.
I lay some poison; it's probably fake.
So I listen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . not a sound.
Not a scratch not a peep
But then
?????Hmmmmmmmm?????
Is it waiting for me to fall asleep
and to the pantry my candies to eat?
Or
In my house
dare I ask, do I have,
do I continue to look
in my house
for that Schrödinger mouse?