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The Presence
Apr. 26th, 2006 11:43 amFor the last week or so I've been aware that I'm sharing my home with a Presence. No sight nor sound nor smell alerted me to this; instead it was something about the way I've caught Miss Pink staring intently behind the piano once or twice, in an altogether more earthly way than when she spies an imaginary ghostling on the ceiling.
This afternoon the Presence decided to manifest itself. I'd gone well over my daily word quota on the essay I'm writing and laid down tools - at least, abandoned tapping at the keyboard - and settled down on the sofa to read. The CD finished and all was quiet. Not a creature was stirring, etc, etc, except for a mouse.
It all but tap-danced into the lounge with a boater and cane. I said, "Hello, little mouse," and it stopped and stared at me for ages before scuttling (at a leisurely pace, I might add) behind a shelf.
Not to be outdone by a mouse, I tucked my jeans into my socks, woke Miss Pink from her mid-afternoon nap in the sun, set her down next to the shelf and pulled it forward. Nothing. Miss Pink blinked at me, most disgruntled and took herself outside again.
So now I've set my two mousetraps and I'm not happy. I don't like killing mice with traps, even if that sudden, neck-breaking snap is quicker and kinder than letting Miss Pink take the quarry.
This afternoon the Presence decided to manifest itself. I'd gone well over my daily word quota on the essay I'm writing and laid down tools - at least, abandoned tapping at the keyboard - and settled down on the sofa to read. The CD finished and all was quiet. Not a creature was stirring, etc, etc, except for a mouse.
It all but tap-danced into the lounge with a boater and cane. I said, "Hello, little mouse," and it stopped and stared at me for ages before scuttling (at a leisurely pace, I might add) behind a shelf.
Not to be outdone by a mouse, I tucked my jeans into my socks, woke Miss Pink from her mid-afternoon nap in the sun, set her down next to the shelf and pulled it forward. Nothing. Miss Pink blinked at me, most disgruntled and took herself outside again.
So now I've set my two mousetraps and I'm not happy. I don't like killing mice with traps, even if that sudden, neck-breaking snap is quicker and kinder than letting Miss Pink take the quarry.
