Hickory Dickory Dock

Our bathroom is a happening place.

Last summer, a raccoon attacked the chicken house in a midnight raid. With cunning paws, it ripped a piece of corrugated plastic right off the side of the building, and our bathroom became home to a flock of nine overnight. You should have seen Seda's face when she went to shower the next morning. Still, the happenings today proved stiff competition.

Sam had decided to get out of the bath and asked me to bring him a towel. I slid one off the shower curtain rod above his head. A dark object immediately appeared in the tub beside him.
And it swam. In fact, it swam laps around poor Sam while I shrieked and he looked bewildered.

Sleek and dark, the mouse dog paddled for its life. Apparently, it had been sitting on the towel I'd pulled from the rod. It swam remarkably well for a matter of minutes until I had the wherewithal to get Sam out of the tub, at which time it beached itself on a floating, empty shampoo bottle. By then, Seda and Trinidad had joined us to check out the commotion. Harley the cat watched, as cats will, with wide eyes -- noncommital.

Trinidad was thrilled. He somehow arranged it so that Harley got the mouse and he got the bath, but all behind a closed door. I sat with Sam wrapped in a towel in my lap in the kitchen. "That was scary!" Sam told me again. Seda went to fetch his clothes. She forgot about the mouse in the bathroom.

Of course, Harley hadn't killed it yet ("just looking!"). Seda opened the door, and the mouse ran out to jump into the dirty clothes basket. Seda did cuss. The cat was dismayed and the dog now curious. What could it be?

One by one, Seda picked our dirty clothes out and set them into a new basket. The dog watched. The cat looked irritated and occasionally attacked the dog, claws extended, to make her opinion of teamwork quite clear. The boys cheered.

At the bottom of the basket, a wet mouse appeared. And this is the end of our story for no kindness is it to laugh at death, whatever the natural cause.