There can be only one...

...he didn't bring his friends, did he?

This morning, as I threw a load of laundry in the wash, I went over to grab the bleach and noticed that a large clump of dryer lint had fallen onto the floor. As I put the bleach back, I observed that the dryer lint appeared to have a tail. And possibly legs.

Naturally I went back upstairs.

When it came time to take the laundry out of the washer I steeled myself, bent over and observed that the resemblance to a critter was even more profound. Went upstairs, got a plastic bag, returned and picked it up. Yup, a dead, semi-mummified field mouse.

Not what you want to find in your house. Especially not on the day before I leave on the bike trip.

I called jennifer_dunne and explained my discovery. "Tell me that there was only one!" I implored. "Lie to me and tell me there's not an entire nest down there."

As good friends do, Jennifer lied to me and assured me that this was a solitary stray field mouse, and that I had nothing to worry about.

My best guess is that the mouse got in through the back door which was propped open a couple of weeks ago during the water heater adventure. The door between the basement and the main house is always closed except when I'm going up or down the basement stairs, so even if he ventured up the stairs, he might not have been able to get in to the main house.

Forensically speaking, it appeared that he'd been dead for a while. It's been several days since I last did laundry, and I don't normally use bleach so he could have been in that spot for a week or more.

Still, this calls for a stiff drink, and as soon as Stacey arrives, we're cracking open a bottle of wine.

Jennifer will be watching my house while I'm gone. I've told her that even if she observes mice frolicking through the living room, she's not to tell me. At least not until I'm driving home, in which case she can gently suggest that I book a motel for a few days....

Paying it forward, part 2

Some may recall my recent blog entry about meeting C, an aspiring writer. During our conversation, I'd given her notes with links to information I thought she might find helpful.

Tonight I took my biking partner Stacey for dinner at The Lost Dog. C was there, and rushed over to tell me that she'd looked at the link, found that she felt really in tune with one of the agents, and had sent off a e-query. The agent had just asked to see the first fifty pages of C's novel. C was ecstatic and naturally I was thrilled for her. I told her I would cross my fingers and wished her all the best. It was a great feeling--I talk to many aspiring writers at conferences, but since I rarely see them again, I never know if my advice has been helpful. In this case, I know that what I said was both useful and appreciated.

In other news, I'm off on the bike trip. No laptop, no internet, so radio silence for a while. Expect me to return with tall tales and, if you're lucky, incriminating photographs.