We're now down in Harlingen, attending a Birding Festival. When we loaded up and headed out, in addition to our luggage and gear, was four mouse traps, two sticky traps, and assorted poison blocks, and one Illinois mouse.
I'd gotten used to him, almost. I'd cleaned the RV more than I'd ever done before, and was almost resigned to having him as a pet. But Mary Ann ... She shrieked the first time. And she shrieked the second time, and the third. I explained that we had this mouse with us -- that I'd tried everything to get rid of it, from leaving the door open for hours, to all the assorted lethal measures. But she just wasn't quite used to it.
But, just a few minutes ago, I saw him down at my feet, dashing under the carpet. I stomped.
I half expected him to vanish in the cracks like he had so many times before. But when I looked, he was lying there, still breathing, but motionless. I couldn't bring myself to stomp again. I picked him up and walked him a few hundred yards away and left him in the grass. Probably, he was dead. But I'm not going to check.
He'd come from Illinois to far south Texas. He'd made the mistake of living with humans. Only a few species can pull that off successfully.
Change of Schedule - Henry’s Stories has been on-line and regularly updated for almost two years now, with a mix of new and old stories -- some short and others novel length. ...
4 years ago