wow, that's a record... 6 weeks since any word from the Pica.
Thank you everybody for your birthday wishes! Things over here in the fine feathered land of picadom have been flowing along in a rather slow, yet not all together bad pace.
Thank you to everybody that left me comments regarding Morgan, I read them all, but couldn't reply.
Yes, saying "goodbye" to the Morgster was rough, and perhaps sometime I'll elaborate on that day, but not likely soon as I still have no internet access except for at work...
I've come around though, and no longer expect him to be waiting for me (in his physical form) when I get home from work or wake up in the morning... Kinda sad that my building is strictly pet free.
Funny thing happened this morning as I was sitting there writing, listening to the last gurgle of the coffee machine (silently thanking you for buying coffee, love) and for the second time this week I wondered what was causing it to squeak so.
Somewhere quiet under the hiss of the water and the clicking adjustment of the heating pad growing hot under the carafe, there was that little squeak, a hinge perhaps but this morning my hearing singled it out as just a bit too odd.
Listening hard for it now, coffee dripping, steam hiss, gurgle, .squeak. I turned around in my chair to get both ears facing the kitchen. Maybe its the neighbors bird Im hearing? Listening harder now, straining and nothing.
I went back to writing for a few moments, and the kitchen was mostly silent.
I got up, poured myself a cup of the coffee, turned out the light and sat back down. Writing again, a few moments go by, I light a cigarette with the candle and squeak squeak.
Ok, what the fu? I get up and turn the lights on in the kitchen nothing now, silence. I stood motionless in the center of the kitchen, staring at the coffee pot for about 60 seconds, watching the odd drip drop quietly to bounce a quick and quiet ripple out to the edge of the carafe without squeaking, then after a few minutes I turned off the light and sat back down out at the writing desk.
A few minutes passed and then I heard not a squeak from the carafe, but a scruffle. A scruffle or a scritch or a tiny little rummage. Thats when it dawned on me what I may have been hearing.
Fuuuuck. No. please no.
I got up again and turned on the light, and this time I was a little slow in approaching the counter the coffee pot sits on. Slow in pulling open the cupboards where I keep my flour, rice and pasta. Its not like I dont like mice, but I just dont want to share my space with them. I find it somewhat unnerving never knowing when you are going to be surprised by that quick and unexpected flash of grey darting from behind whatever box you are about to move. So I really didnt want to be in the position of being about to prove that I had a guest.
When I opened the cupboard, I was saddened to see the tiny little black and telltale gifts scattered lightly around the flour bag.
Gots me a happy birthday house mouse.
pet free, my ass.
Thank you everybody for your birthday wishes! Things over here in the fine feathered land of picadom have been flowing along in a rather slow, yet not all together bad pace.
Thank you to everybody that left me comments regarding Morgan, I read them all, but couldn't reply.
Yes, saying "goodbye" to the Morgster was rough, and perhaps sometime I'll elaborate on that day, but not likely soon as I still have no internet access except for at work...
I've come around though, and no longer expect him to be waiting for me (in his physical form) when I get home from work or wake up in the morning... Kinda sad that my building is strictly pet free.
Funny thing happened this morning as I was sitting there writing, listening to the last gurgle of the coffee machine (silently thanking you for buying coffee, love) and for the second time this week I wondered what was causing it to squeak so.
Somewhere quiet under the hiss of the water and the clicking adjustment of the heating pad growing hot under the carafe, there was that little squeak, a hinge perhaps but this morning my hearing singled it out as just a bit too odd.
Listening hard for it now, coffee dripping, steam hiss, gurgle, .squeak. I turned around in my chair to get both ears facing the kitchen. Maybe its the neighbors bird Im hearing? Listening harder now, straining and nothing.
I went back to writing for a few moments, and the kitchen was mostly silent.
I got up, poured myself a cup of the coffee, turned out the light and sat back down. Writing again, a few moments go by, I light a cigarette with the candle and squeak squeak.
Ok, what the fu? I get up and turn the lights on in the kitchen nothing now, silence. I stood motionless in the center of the kitchen, staring at the coffee pot for about 60 seconds, watching the odd drip drop quietly to bounce a quick and quiet ripple out to the edge of the carafe without squeaking, then after a few minutes I turned off the light and sat back down out at the writing desk.
A few minutes passed and then I heard not a squeak from the carafe, but a scruffle. A scruffle or a scritch or a tiny little rummage. Thats when it dawned on me what I may have been hearing.
Fuuuuck. No. please no.
I got up again and turned on the light, and this time I was a little slow in approaching the counter the coffee pot sits on. Slow in pulling open the cupboards where I keep my flour, rice and pasta. Its not like I dont like mice, but I just dont want to share my space with them. I find it somewhat unnerving never knowing when you are going to be surprised by that quick and unexpected flash of grey darting from behind whatever box you are about to move. So I really didnt want to be in the position of being about to prove that I had a guest.
When I opened the cupboard, I was saddened to see the tiny little black and telltale gifts scattered lightly around the flour bag.
Gots me a happy birthday house mouse.
pet free, my ass.
VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
but happy birthday.