There's an interesting ritual where I live that occurs once a year around spring time. For the last four years, although not quite every year, a small mouse somehow manages to find it’s way into the house. I don’t really know how they do it since I’ve block off all known points of entry, but then they are terribly wee and can probably squeeze through anything. What’s surprising is that they seem somehow drawn to me. A few days ago we had another visitor who sauntered up to where I was at my computer, went to the corner where all the wires are, and then proceeded to snack on a fleshy leaf from one of my Mom’s plants. I mean, I was sitting right there, playing music rather loudly. The last time I had a visitor I was asleep in my bed and woke up to find a mouse on top of the duvet. It was looking at me and seemed to be enjoying the general coziness of my bed. The other part of the ritual is where I catch the mouse, give it a name, and let it go outside.
This time around I took a picture. I called him Theodore.