If there is a group of humans who whose fate tracks with that of lab mice, it is that of the Caloric Restriction Society, whose

 What is it about keeping lab mice that continually seems to conjure images of World War II? Is it the obvious:that, in the case of lab mice, we are all Col. Klink, the hapless commandante of Stalag 17, doomed to dominance ohne respect? Or is it domething else in the increasingly murky relationship between the muridae and you and I?

Eur-eek!-a, they have found it!

Los Angeles: Just a short dispatch from the press room of the annual convention of the American Association for Cancer Research, which is celebrating its centennial this year. Considering the scale of the gathering--it fills the LA Convention Center--one would expect a basketball game to take place. But no. This is a convening of some of the most serious-minded people in the world, working on a disease that claims the lives of millions every year. It is, of course, an industry in itself--and that makes the trade show floor just as interesting ( and a bit less tedious) as the scientific workshops going on at the same time. And it is an industry largely built on the very tiny shoulders of our friend, mus musculus.

Escape!

Last night, while Tony and Bobby were beating the bejesus out of each other over a game of Monopoly gone very bad, we faced a situation also fraught with violence, or at least potential violence: the escape of a mouse from Mousefarm.

I say "potential violence" because, if we study man's relationship to mouse so far, it always ends in...bummersville for the mouse. Especially when man is surprised, or startled by mus's rapid, darting shots along the wallboard--the movements that so often evoke the sound known as "eek!" In fact, I will proposed here that the basic relationship between mouse and man can be summed up in three words: Dart, eek!, WHAM!