“He’s never going to make it,” Benji declared.
Shelly shrugged. “I think he can.”
Benji twitched in irritation. “Mark my words. He’s never gonna make it. Not after all the eggnog he’d snagged.”
Shelly sniffed. Eggnog? There was eggnog? He wanted some!
Tilly wriggled between them and squeezed herself onto the couch. “What’cha doing?”
“Nothing.” Benji huffed.
“Ignore Benji, Sis, he’s just being his grouchy self.” Shelly scooted over a bit to make room for their sibling, who was younger by whole two minutes and by that officially the baby. Well, till the next babies had arrived.
“What is he doing down there?” Tilly squeaked. “If Mama sees him on the floor in the middle of the living room he is toast!”
“He’s trying to walk the line to the other side,” Shelly explained. Toast? Why’d she have to mention toast? Now he wanted toast.
“He’s walking funny,” Tilly noted.
“Of course he is. He’s drunk.” Benji muttered. “Now hush.”
“Sorry, Benji,” Tilly demurred, but true to form could barely keep herself still for half a second. “His tail is droopy. It is all in the tail, you know. He can’t keep to the line if his back-end is all draggy. Hey, Giddy,” she called, her whiskers trembling in excitement, “you can do it! lift your tail! It’ll give you better balance! It’s my turn next!”
Fantastic!
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Thank you! π I was just having too much fun with this one… π Happy Holidays to you and yours. Comfort and joy to all!
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Simply adorable!
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π thank you, Dale! I had to do something with this mouse… π
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Did you now…
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Yep…and I didn’t want it to be icky mouse, either… Though a mouse drunk on eggnog is perhaps a little bit icky…. ππ
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More cute than icky…π
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Yeah, I hear ya. They are ALL of them cute as long as they aren’t setting foot in my house. Because, ya know, they don’t pay no rent, and we have that agreement … that as long as they don’t come here, I won’t need to hurt them … which I really don’t want to do … so … I direct them toward the park, where there is plenty of food and company …
Then there’s my friend who has two mice as pets. Them pay rent, you see. So it works for her. π
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Yeah, I’m with you on the whole not paying rent so not welcome, thing. The only mice that have made their appearance in the last 15 or so years are the ones brought dead as “gifts” from our lovely cats…
I don’t get the whole mice/rat as pet thing, either.
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Yeah, me neeever. π
Pets sure are
A thing so nice
But we no need ’em
Rats or mice … π
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Hahaha!
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I loved this, Na’ama. I can see you had some fun with it.
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LOL! Yeah, I was like, “Yikes, a mouse!” (I don’t mind them per se, I just don’t want them in my abode … and for the most part they’ve been okay with staying away, knowing that if they show up, I might have no option but to show some unkindness, which I really prefer not to do …). So, I figured, it is not in MY house, so I can have a play with it. π
Happy Mousing about to you! π
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At one time, we had a serious mouse π problem in our last house π in France π«π· . That was when we learned two things: not all mice π like the laced grain in those little bags, and no space is too difficult for a determined Jack Russel terrier to get into. He came in the house with a lot of blue around his mouth and was treated to a fast ten-mile drive to the vet, where he was treated to a very strong emetic injection. Happily, he was back to normal within a relatively few hours.
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Oy!!!! Yeah, exactly why I have my ‘agreement’ with the mice — I don’t want to do anything to harm them (or any other living being) and therefore I don’t want to put any poison things or traps or stuff … so we are ALL happier if they go live someplace else. As for the determined Jack Russel terriers … yep. A friend of mine had one who proved VERY determined with a somewhat similar story (other kind of pest, same overall effect … ;)).
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Happily, Trevor survived that incident and is now rapidly approaching his fourteenth birthday and rodents are less of an issue here in a development on the edge of an English former mining town than out in the French countryside.
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Well, if the movie Ratatouille is any indication, some rodents are happier in France … π
And that’s right fine. Food, that is. π
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