Here I am, Erin!
Now that I am writing, I'm thinking perhaps the real problem behind my seeming lack of creative thought was a lack of caffeine. Because today I have had more than plenty and my fingers are eager to flit about the keyboard in a manner reminiscent of yesteryear (and by yesteryear I mean a couple months ago.) We'll see if we can keep this going.
Let's see...tales to tell...last night, having returned home from various wedding related errands (relating not to my own wedding- don't worry, I have no surprising news that I've chosen to reveal to everyone by burying the lede in a random blog post - but rather to the TWO friends' I am looking forward to participating in come January), I spent a leisurely hour or so just pottering around before going to Lacey's. You know, stacking up unopened mail, eating pasta, taking a shower - that sort of thing. Francis was darting around, being his usual weird self, but I noticed he was taking particular interest in a pair of heels that were laying on the floor beside the couch.
Not that I blamed him, these shoes being bright red and of the J. Crew persuasion, but up til now he hasn't really demonstrated that much interest in footwear so I decided to check it out. Then I thought to myself, what is that smallish fuzzy looking thing huddled in my shoe, where the ball of one's foot would usually rest? The cat quickly darted away as I exclaimed my surprise at realizing it was a relatively small rodent, of the mouse persuasion. After collecting myself, I realized that Francois had terrified the poor thing into a state some might call frozen, as it was not moving, except to wring its tiny hands/feet.
At this point I reached a conundrum. Initially, out of surprise, I could not think for the life of me what one would do with a small mouse. I stood in the living room, perplexed, as the tiny thing continued to wring his hands, crouched in my shoe. If I put him outside, he will surely freeze to death because even though I have yet to turn my heaters on this winter (please see this post for explanation on that), it has to be warmer inside than out and he is surely a domesticated mouse. However, one clearly (unless one is Phoebe) doesn't just let rodents run rampant in one's home, plus Francis would surely put a swift and grisly end to that anyhow.
I settled on placing the little fella, whom I named Stuart, in the stairwell of our small apartment building, thinking that it would be warmer than outside but less health-hazardish than letting him live in my apartment/putting him in a shoe box. I decided over night that I would put something in the stairwell for him to live with, like a sock or something, and share some of Francis' food with him. Unfortunately...let's just say this plan was unsuccessful. I'm comforting myself by thinking that he was an elderly mouse, and lived out his final days (barring a harrowing adventure with le chat) in the peace and comfort of my apartment building.
Just so we don't end on kind of a downer note (sorry about that), speaking of mice, please look at this amazing picture of Claire's child, dressed as Minnie Mouse for Halloween:
Pretty much my favorite child.