We had a visitor a few days ago. Since I was not able to capture the evening's events on camera, I took the liberty of illustrating what occurred. Here is the story.

"Was that a mouse?!" I yelled, hoping R would tell me that it was just my imagination or that it was a fuzzball that flew past. But the look on his face told me that it was not a fuzzball.
At this point in the story, R would like you to know that we are not dirty people, but that we live in a very wooded area. Please do not judge us on account of our little friend, who I named Mr. Mousey.

When I was little, one of my favorite books was 'The Tale of Two Bad Mice' by Beatrix Potter, where two little mice, Tomb Thumb and his wife Hunca Munca sneak into a doll hose and break things and steal the dolly's feather bed. But then they feel really bad about it so Tom Thumb pays for the damage and Hunca Munca comes in and sweeps the dolls house up every morning before anyone wakes up.
R assured me that Mr. Mousey was probably not going to pay us for any damages (we think he chewed up a wooden spoon a while back) and he was definitely not going to help me with the cleaning, so we'd better get some mouse traps.

But that is not how this ends. It actually ends a little like a who-dunnit. You see, we set several traps in his hangout spots. But I went out to the garage the other day only to find his little lifeless body in the middle of the floor. No trap, nothing. R and I just stood there for a minute wondering how he died. Maybe just knowing there was a price on his head and that his days were numbered caused his tiny little heart too much stress. Maybe he nibbled on something with chemicals in it.
R would like you to know that it is definitely not because there might be more than one mouse. Because we're not dirty.
Either way, it was a sad day for Mr. Mousey and now I can stop being so jumpy, thinking every thing I hear is a mouse. Goodbye Mr. Mousey.
The End.
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