Further adventures in suburbia

This time, a neighbor called me on the phone, frantic. I never answer the phone (or mostly never), so instead of calling her back, I walked to her door and asked what was up.

She had a rat in her garage.

OK, I said.

Has Tammy had her baby, asked the little girl.

No, I said.


You'll know when.

Further investigation revealed that is wasn't a rat, and the mouse wasn't alive. Anymore.

I swept the poor thing in tightly wrapped garbage bags and threw the bundle into the garbage can. I sterilized the dustpan with bleach (ick, the stuff is nasty. I'm so glad that Tammy and I don't use it). And I threw out the rug the mouse had been splayed out on.

I told my neighbor to watch for signs of rabies in the dogs.

I was reminded why we don't keep dogs.

No, it's not because they drag things in (worse than cats, actually. The expression is all wrong)

It's because they leave their excrement *everywhere*.

Then I went home and took a shower. Dead animals don't exactly freak me out, but the task was a bit nasty and lacked the "damsel in distress" thrill of my prior adventure in suburbia. Though there were two damsels (and the little girl is darling), nobody but mom was distressed.


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