Speaking of mice, I was sitting on my bed watching TV just now, starting to wonder what all the crashing in the kitchen was about, when Snip trotted by with a too-purposeful *thud* to her step; so I leaned over to look, and saw a pink mousie foot dangling from her clenched jaws. So that's a fourth lifetime tackle to the credit of my furry exterminator, although not kill yet, as she appears to have lost it again on her way into the closet. It's either long gone out through the still-incomplete patch in the closet wall, or we'll start noticing a funny smell in a couple of weeks...

Meanwhile, Weasel is rushing about wringing her paws and moaning "I don' know nuthin' 'bout birthin' no babies catchin' no mouses", as usual. The contrast is profound, not to say more amusing than it really should be.
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