I’m getting good at this!
I’m the best damn mouser in Badger House! w00t!
Charlotte keeps bringing them in lightly injured — mildly annoyed, really — giving us a good look and then letting them loose in the livingroom to skitter around under the furniture, leap alarmingly in the air and scramble repeatedly over my bare feet. I now have a special mouse-trapping cup (which doubles as the spider-trapping cup in Uncle B’s hands) into which I am developing a facility for snaring meece.
I don’t mind. It beats the HELL out of bludgeoning the tragically crippled ones I would find dragging themselves across the carpets at Weasel Towers. I can only assume she maimed them more horribly in those days in competition with Damien, who was an utter feline psycho jerk. God, I miss him.
However, there’s apparently one that didn’t get off so lightly. For several days, we’ve been struggling to cope with the most unbelievable stench in the stair and landing area. Something has obviously crawled into the walls and died. We can’t quite pinpoint where, so we’re reluctant to start prying up floorboards.
If it gets any stronger, I’m going to have to set it a place at the table.