First, there were Jacque and Gus, who kept Cinderelly company. Then of course there was Frederick, who gathered colors and words and the warmth of the sun to comfort his family through the long, cold winter.
And I can’t forget Despereaux (the book, not the movie), a hero as unlikely as he was wise and brave and true.
Which brings me to the zombie mice who will haunt my dreams tonight. I killed a mouse. Actually, the mousetrap killed it, but I had to dispose of its lifeless little body. Usually this kind of task falls under my husband’s jurisdiction, but he was out of town.
We live in the woods, so as the weather gets cold, the mice come a-visiting. Mouse poop is gross (although, to be fair, whose poop isn’t?) and when one scurries under the kitchen radiator in front of guests (true story), it’s embarrassing. I’m not the most enthusiastic housekeeper, but my house isn’t so dirty that we should be overrun with vermin.
Hence, the mousetraps. Yuck. Can I just say that? Yuck. Also, I’m sorry, little mouse.