Yes, 'tis true. Le petite rodent is back.
I woke to the curious sound of rustling and skittering and paper tearing that - upon further investigation - turned out to be Buddy (aka Furry Machiavellian Person #2), his cat butt sticking out of the overturned trash can under my desk as he furiously dug through papers and shredded bills. There was trash everywhere. Suddenly a streak of grey darted out across the living room, fat black cat in pursuit, belly jiggling all the way into the bedroom. Furry Machiavellian Person #1 wasn't far behind.
Thus began a thirty minute free-for-all of galloping, leaping, somersaulting, catapulting, skydiving, and aerial ballet as the idiot felines pursued one half ounce of terrified mousie, chasing it merrily through the living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. (Well, at least Buddy was finally getting some exercise.)
I've mentioned before my hesitation over killing mice and rats. I mean, they're just trying to make a living. It's not like they're roaches, ya know? So - deep sigh! - La Gringa finally intervened, taking pity on the poor creature, trapping it inside an empty Cheerios box and transporting it outside to the the hedges, where - upon release - it swiftly disappeared into the wet greenery.
I came back inside to find two disappointed felines sitting just inside the door, both fixing me with an angry glare. (Ouch!)
Methinks I'd better watch out for revenge poop in my shoes today.