Early this morning, we heard the sound of terror squeak through our house. Fortunately, this was the kind of terror of which we are in favor. Rex had caught a mouse. Rex, being a well-fed cat, sees mice as solely a source of entertainment. Through (I'm sure) extensive thought and research, Rex has decided the best place to play a mouse to death is in the girls' room. It makes sense: there are three beds, one closet, one dresser, and a huge mess to hide in, under, and around.
This venue has its drawbacks. Some friends came to our house only to discover a dead mouse near the Little People's barn. Barns are better places for mice. This morning's mouse ended up having two assailants since Willie went to see where the squeaking was coming from. Willie squashed the mouse, severely upsetting the cat who felt that playtime wasn't over yet.
The girls slept through the entire incident, probably because we've all been exhausted staying up every night watching the Olympics. Halle, who has no chance of ever becoming an Olympic gymnast, has declared her love for the sport. She shows us her "moves" every time we watch those inspirational athletes flip all over the floor. I tried that once and I really hurt my wrist. "And Mom," she said to me last night, "if I do Olympic gymnastics, I don't have to wear pants or undies!" It's incredible where inspiration can come from.
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