(Eventually, Gordon organized for an exterminator to come in. An East End geezer with, ironically, the surname “Mouser.” When he laid down some traps, I asked him if there was a more humane way of dealing with the problem. “No,” he said, his arms folded in dismay. “OK,” I replied. “It’s just that I’m vegetarian.” “Well, you don’t have to eat it,” he replied.)
