Our house has become even more Critter Central here lately. As I've mentioned, we throw our food scraps out back, close beneath the window where I sit to write, and the local beggars of the animal variety are starting to set their watches by us. We have three regular racoon visitors, two of whom will come up right beneath my window, and we have at least two different, and possibly three different, possums. Each of these will come at least twice a night, and sometimes more. We have had a fox, although not in a while.
Last night we managed, with much dancing about and jumping up and down, to herd a mouse out the back French Doors, and Lana discovered after finishing a small box of raisens that they had mites in them. Oh well, it was Friday, but Lana's not Catholic so I guess eating the mites wasn't a sin for her. In my windowsill, I have a dead stink bug roughly the size of my thumb, and our backyard is so constantly visited by birds that it resembles Pearl Harbor on the day of the Japanese bombing runs.
Today there are butterflies and bees in the clover, and I've had about all I can handle of sitting in the house. Outside I go, feeling like Saint Francis among the animals. Only without the saintly qualities, of course.
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