Saturday, November 4, 2017

Ghost Mouse

I've just settled in cross-legged on my mat and closed my eyes to begin my meditation session when the sound of glass exploding behind me jolts me upright. Expecting the worst, I leap to my feet and run back to the dining room where literally hundreds of Katie's artworks (butterflies beneath glass domes, in glass cubes, in glass bottles) wait to be sent to market, but, search though I may, I can't seem to find any carnage despite the noise.

Katie and I search for the source of the crash, finding nothing, until Katie finally identifies the culprit as a single cocktail glass on the bar cart off to the side, though it looks like nothing fell on it, and it didn't fall over either.

"Well, maybe it's that mouse the cat almost killed that got away, like we're being haunted by its vengeful spirit," Katie speculates, as I attempt to pick up shards of glass with my bare fingers before they work their way into the cracks in the hardwood floor.
One year ago: Foliage
Two years ago: Living In The Past
Three years ago: Lots of Folks Eat Ramen
Four years ago: It's Up To Me
Six years ago: The March of Sickness
Seven years ago: Wake Up In The Morning Feeling Like P-Diddy

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