In order: mice, rats, beavers.
The mice were caught by our cat.
We've had Joan since the week after we were married. With her multiple tones of grey mixed with peach, I've always thought her more of a looker than a mouser.
That was confirmed by her first encounter with a mouse about four years ago. Not only did she embarrass herself in the failed hunt, she was still looking for the stupid thing two weeks after I caught it.
She finally started earning her keep earlier this month. She caught two little grey mice over three nights. I have to say, I was impressed. We haven't heard a squeak on the mousey front for a few weeks. However...
We have an old, manual typewriter box sitting on the ground by our front window. The kids stand on it to watch what's happening outside. Sunday morning, Henry was perched atop and announced he saw a mouse.
I looked. It was a rat.
A big, brown rat, siting on our front porch in broad daylight. Beady black eyes and a wormy tail. He was feasting on the bird seed (and poo) which had dropped from our feeder. I should have realized it was a silly idea to mount it so close to the house.
I've since checked the house from top to bottom and found no further evidence of rats or mice.
As for the beaver, it's my November enemy.
I really enjoy watching the moon. My interest in astronomy comes and goes, but I always love watching the moon. Following its cycles. Watching it slowly wax and wane.
The moon in any given month has a name (Harvest moon, Wolf moon...). November is the Beaver moon. I hate the Beaver moon.
I wouldn't have ever blamed human behavior on the moon before I had kids. Holy crap, it's hard not to notice how crazy they get in the week before full, which we are now in.
(note: Jane was born on the full moon in July. The hospital was packed with women giving birth. There weren't enough nurses on duty. It was nuts.)
As I walked home from barbershop practice Monday night, I really didn't want to look at the moon. It had an odd halo, which it has kept all week. Erin said the same thing the next morning. She felt like every window she looked out had this taunting, ringed moon.
Having something to blame this grumpy week on makes me feel a little better. Damn Beaver moon.