Sometimes the "truth stranger than fiction" really hits home. It happened this week when I found little tracings of mice in my dishtowel drawer and butter dish, and tiny bits of pastel colored foil behind the toaster. Evidently, mice like chocolate Easter candy like the rest of us. But yikes! I thought. We can't have that. Really, we can't. A trip to Sears Hardware showed me there were all sorts of ways to get rid of Mickey and Company. I decided on a "no touch" trap that was reusable and was covered so you didn't even have to look at the end result. Not that I would have anyway. Sydney Carton was again on hand to take the far, far better course of tossing the body in the trash. We caught another one last night, but I've again left it for SC.

But I felt bad, you know? Here I am, all ready to publish a delightful Christmas story called Twitcher McGee and the Wonderful Tree--and it's all about a poor little mouse! I want to create such sympathy for Twitcher so readers will be hoping he gets his cupboard filled for the next year and here I am, not only taking away his food, but also his reason for needing it! I wonder if Walt Disney had that problem.

I also should note here that I think I killed my worms.

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