This caused no end of hilarity among the friends who raised their voices as one in praise and thanksgiving, asking questions like, “When will the viewing and burial be?” followed by insincere condolences. “So sorry for your loss. Ha ha.”
To my surprise, one friend who’d followed the action admitted in a wistful tone that she was half sorry we’d caught him. As my eyebrows levitated, tickling my follicles, she added, “‘Cause now the story’s over.”
“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “There’s one more. We haven’t caught the widow yet.” She sighed, looking relieved, and said she’d stay tuned.
I realize that there are worse things than having a mouse larking through your cupboards and eating your cheese. Actually, with a husband who’s been on a terrific cheese kick lately, that’s nothing new, though to his credit, the only things he leaves behind are crumbs. There is that.
Running out of coffee could be worse. The day I found the last two beans rattling around in the bottom of the bag was a downer. I haven’t been that disappointed since learning that the tooth fairy was actually my dad in a pair of rumpled pajamas. For now, though, we have reached a fragile sort of peace. Mr. Schrock will keep hunting mice, and I’ll make sure the coffee holds steady. We can’t have Mama decaffeinated, after all. No, we can’t.