It's the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi (for at least another two minutes anyway, or longer if you count the end of the day as when I say Compline). Last year, Fluffy celebrated by heading off for her first ever blessing - this year she is channeling her inner predator. As I was writing in the sunroom a few minutes ago I heard a thump and a squeak from the basement. Fluffy proudly strode into the room, two ears and a tail sticking out of her mouth. Yep - it's still alive. Nope - she does not want to take it outside. Don't I want to watch her? Most emphatically - no! The mouse thinks I have it in for him as well, and has resisted various attempts at rescue. I have retreated to my bedroom, where I have barricaded the door, lest she decide I really must enjoy the show. I feel badly for the mouse on this day of all days- have I let St. Francis down?
The boys have taken to calling Fluffy the "VLF' (vicious little furball). While warm and cuddly with her human staff, do not get between her and her amuse bouches.
Last week, walking out to get the morning paper with the Boy, he notices something out of the usual and inquires, "Why is that mouse sleeping on the driveway, Mom?" "Um, it's not sleeping..." "Oh, the VLF again!" Crash ("sarcasm, just another service we offer!") chimes in with, "at least this one has all its limbs". This is when I realize that the Fluffster has left us another gift. This one is just so much fluff on the door mat - and I have just walked through it. No shoes. Life lesson - wear shoes to get the paper.
I will wear shoes in the morning - that is for sure.