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When I woke up this morning, I did not expect the task of packing for Florida to include a subtask of cleaning mouse blood off of my flip flops.

But perhaps I should have.

Timmy and Maggie woke us up over and over last night with their playful scampering and gamboling.  And whining (I think that was Timmy).  At one point Bill got up and closed all the doors to the bedroom simply to block of the sound of the crazy kitty party.

This morning Bill discovered the source of the revelry:  a dead mouse.  In my office.  On my flip flops.  Upon closer inspection, we found evidence of mouse effluvia on the paper liner I keep in my office to protect the newly refinished floor.

Hhhmm.

I’m really not letting myself think about it too hard.

I’m going to Florida, after all.  If mice scamper up onto the bed to say “hello” while I’m gone, that’s Bill’s situation to deal with how he sees fit.

As long as I can decontaminate my flip flops, I’m good.

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