Mice are to Mr. Sophanne as Moths are to Wool-lovers. I think it has something to do with his Brooklyn background and knowledge of rats.

Last night we heard the skittleskuttle of teeny mice feet on our ceiling tiles. This happens every time the weather gets a little chilly. Annabelle the cat usually takes care of them while they're outside.

Mr. Sophanne overheard them and decided that he needed to put some mice-killing-stuff in the ceiling tiles. He dutifully banged on the tiles to let the mices know that he was coming.

Apparently there were a couple of deaf mice- or maybe they're sound sleepers. A squeak and a scream (not so much from me) later we had a pile-o- mice killing stuff all over the floor and Mr. Sophanne endured a mouse falling on his head.

There's a mouse in the basement-living room now. With the cat and the dog that we have I don't imagine the little feller will last long. I am not sure, however, how long it will take Mr. Sophanne to come back downstairs and enjoy the new furniture.

Exposure therapy may be the answer. More than once last night (and by more than once I mean about seventyleven times) he said "A Mouse fell on my Head. It wasn't as bad as I thought."

We did do a thorough job of cleaning up the mice killing stuff after the fact. By we, I mean I.

If you plan on doing that Halloween contest post for some scout's swag you've got til tomorrow to get it posted!"

eta- Mr. Sophanne just came downstairs, asked if I'd seen the mouse, beat his chair thoroughly and asked where the cat was.