With Their Dinner Cheese Still Warm on the Table
Last winter I squished a mouse to death under a book about the stages of pregnancy. On the carpet, I squished him. I was tired of chasing him around, and I finally saw my chance, so I whomped him good, and I squished him for good measure. I have carried a heavy burden of guilt with me these long months, but I haven't had any mice in the house since then. I think the mice moved to another house. "Only a mad savage would squeeze a mouse to death under a pregnancy book," they told each other, and packed their suitcases. Some of them were too frightened to pack - they just ran away with their clothing scattered everywhere and their dinner cheese still warm on the table.
3 Comments:
so that's where they came from.
My mice were shameless, shiftless nincompoops and would never have travelled as far as Texas. Your mice, on the other hand, sound brilliant. If you leave any more links in my comment field I will set my rabbits upon you. In fact, I will now write an entire post to that effect. Ta ta.
While hindsight demonstrates that I ought to think twice about performing any task that takes 15 minutes to learn to do, I hardly expected to be mauled by knife wielding rabbits.
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