The Biggie thought the word “flatulent” meant “polite.” (She said, “it sounds like gallant!”) If that were true, this family could write the book on etiquette. I’m just sayin’.

What It Has Come To




This note is posted above the controls of my stove. Just a little reminder, though I’m thinking, with the economy down, who would sneer at a little extra protein?

The other day I heard Milo at his food bowl, then realized he was sitting at my feet. Hm. The crunching sounds continued. Tiptoeing over to the bowl, I saw a flash of movement into a teeny weeny hole I’d never noticed before, where a pipe enters the floor. The resident Mouse Killah (not me) set up a trap next to the hole, we retreated to our bunkers, and shazam—within moments we had caught not a mouse, but a vole. For some reason this skeeves me out more than a mouse would—is it the tiny eyes? The fact that cats will kill voles, but not eat them? There’s something mildly satanic about voles, I think we can all agree.

So this morning, I hear telltale lumbering-about sounds at the bottom of my stove (ew ew ew ew) and open the broiler to find…four pieces of Milo’s food and some cotton fluff. It was a stash. My broiler is a vole outpost. So The Husband, god bless him, woke up and even before pouring a cup of coffee-such is his dedication-set up a nice little enclosed trap system (=shoebox with strategic entry holes). Within minutes of closing it back up, I heard scritching, snapping, scrambling. Ew.

Vocabulary of the Day:

Blebitis: Inflammation of the tongue such that its protrusion from the mouth interferes with normal speech, e.g. “Dis blebitis is mekkin it hahd ta tahk.”