(pause for my obnoxiously happy moment)
In other news, our little piece of urban heaven has apparently become a place where things come to die. I really wish they wouldn't. I love reading on the back deck in the summer mornings and evenings, but a couple of months ago, I kept getting faint whiffs of something nasty out there. Like something small died under our deck. But no one else seemed to smell it ... so I just took my book to the front porch and read there. Eventually it went away.
But over the last couple of weeks, that smell is back. At the side door, which we use ALL THE TIME. I tried to ignore it. I said to myself, "Self, you're just imagining things again." And then someone said to me, "Um ... you know something died under there, right?"
Yup. Something big. And it reeks. And it's inaccessible. People have suggested to me that perhaps I would like to wriggle under the dark porch on my belly with a shovel to pull out that stinking, rotting pile of gross. I most certainly would not. I have seen enough CSI episodes to know that I would NOT like to do that.
Spike - to whom I had given a heads-up via phone on Saturday - walked in with his suitcases at 7:30 this morning, gagging. He also would NOT like to do that, and he 's too big to get under there anyway. (Perhaps the Bean would be interested in the job? Ugh ... the frightening thing is, he probably would!)
We've decided to use our front door until nature finishes its course.
Finally, yesterday morning I walked into the laundry room and heard something scurry away. Walked back out and saw Mill asleep on the couch, so it wasn't him. Got out the peanut butter and set a couple of traps. By last night - two little mouse corpses.
So yes. Lately we are the place where things come to die.
But Spike's home. And a very much alive little bunny was in the yard this morning. And Spike is home. Did I mention that?
So it's all good.