Cooling temperatures mean mousing season at the Weismann Home for Wayward Animals. With an old, drafty home comes lots of places for mouse entry, especially when one's pantry is directly over the edge of the dirt basement. This is why all pasta, rice, flour, sugar, beans, soup mix, chocolate, raisins, cocoa mix, nuts, etc are housed in sturdy Rubbermaid containers. I lost an entire box of WeightWatchers Dark Raspberry snack bars to those fuckers.
This is also why Dobby likes to hang out in the pantry. For a cat with no front claws, he is one hell of a mouser. He catches, tortures, then shows off his trophy. Fortunately, the cats don't go for eating them. I can deal with disposing of an intact mouse.
The other morning, Dobby was making some shifty moves around our TV cabinet in the bedroom. Lo and behold, he'd cornered a mouse. He most likely brought it up from the kitchen to show off, then dropped it and "lost" it for a bit. Watching the three cats watch a mouse run around the bedroom was entertaining but without purpose. Once Dobby finally caught it again, he presented it to Joe. On the bed. And the little guy was still alive.
Fortunately, we're not shy here. Joe picked the poor feller up, and we took it outside. It seemed to be in shock, but not injured, so I tucked him into a little cozy spot in the yard and let nature decide the fate.
This morning, while Joe was working on his masterful heat-duct-cover-up about which he'll post soon, The Dobbster left a nice dead mousy present at the foot of our kitchen stairs. If it was the same mouse as earlier this week, then the mouse was an idiot and deserved his fate.
Enough talk about vermin. How about a pretty picture of yarn? Here's the first 10 rows of Muir, in Blue Heron cotton:
I'm thinking this cold, dreary weekend will be bursts of productivity interrupted by hours of pleasant knitting.
1 comment:
I do love me a good mouse tale.
HAHAHAHA! Get it? Thank you, thank you; I'll be here all week. Please tip your wait staff.
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