Twenty

It seemed mere minutes between dusk and dark, the light of day extinguished as if there were a switch on heaven's wall. Charcoal clouds scrape across the horizon; lightening slicing them into pieces and I listen to them crash together again, the thunder almost intoxicating. I'm waiting ever so patiently on the back porch, for the sky to fall.

I spent a significant portion of my day emptying the pantry as I've discovered we have a guest. (pest?) My dining room now resembles a third world market, there's not even a seat to sit upon. This diabolical mouse apparently has good taste as his first meal was the gluten free sea-salt crackers I purchase for friends and since then he's moved on to Ghirardelli chocolate and shaved coconut. Appalled at having to share such commodities, I emptied the pantry and discovered a hole that leads to the basement. Bastard.

Now, I do own (room with?) the assassin cat, Frank, but I've actually come think this may be his fault entirely! You see, we've lived in this 100 yr-old house for nearly ten years now, and not a chewy rodent to be had. Then Frank arrives with his penchant for bringing "friends" inside to "play" until he gets bored and abandons them, thus I now own a pair of welding gloves kept in the piano bench referred to as the "vermin gloves" specifically set aside for catch-and-release. Lo and behold, we have a guest. Damn Frank.

I've set a trap. Checked it three times but I'm sure my visitor will wait for midnight's silence to make his appearance. He'll find the chocolates have been moved. I'm taking my wine into the shower with me lest he discover a taste for red. Frank is grounded.