And then, lo, one of my hundreds of résumés bore fruit! I got a call from a large electronics firm, went in, and took some grueling tests involving math, calculus, even physics. I was interrogated by a panel of hard-ass guys with starched white shirts and stern faces. At the conclusion, they said I was one of fifteen people being considered. Two hundred applicants had already been rejected. They told me that employees were subject to random drug tests. They said they would do a background check. Then they’d call me.

The hardiest of my mice turned out to be the swimmers and walkers. The walkers were put on exercise wheels equipped with speed governors and forced to march at a nine-mph pace eight hours a day. Along the bottoms of their cages were metal grids wired to give them an electric shock if they decided to hop off the wheel and shirk their duty. A few rebelled, but the rebellion was dealt with easily: I merely dialed up the electricity. This made me realize the folly of my so-called punishment cans. A nice dark spot in a quiet room was not “punishment.” True punishment, such as that reserved for recidivist biters, now took place in a proper punishment room with hot bright lights and severe jolts of electricity. A yoga mouse that I happened to take a dislike to, a little Hare Krishna crybaby who couldn’t handle the nine-mph pace, died after thirty-four hours of continuous exercise. The shock burns on its feet, tail, and stomach were secondary to cardiac arrest. Hey! I’m sorry, but it’s survival of the fittest. My tests demonstrated that a reasonable amount of hard physical labor each day produced health and contentment. Bodies are made for work, not idleness.