Sigmund Freud must have had a hand in this: a mouse appeared today!
The Matron understands that a single mouse sighting means there are approximately 2 million of the vermin in her environs. But to the children? A single gray rodent has taken up residence, supposedly under the piano. Merrick imagines Mousie lounging on a tiny vinyl couch, munching on cheese curds.
But at the initial sighting? When the creature scuttled across the wood floors with Satan's Familiar in hot pursuit and children as audience?
Reaction read like a Rorschach test.
Merrick claimed the mouse a pet, named him, and proceeded to post stuffed animals and trinkets in front of the piano, hoping to charm Mousie out.
Scarlett SCREAMED, ran upstairs and started packing her bags. Turns out she is unable to live in a house with a mouse (uh, you have no idea what happened winter of 2006, sweetie. . . you shared a bedroom with a colony). Unable to find alternate housing on short notice, she refuses to come downstairs.
Stryker flopped on the couch and said this: "Thank God. I hope there are hundreds so I can train them . . . to be my unholy army of the night. Can I please have an unholy army of the night, Mom??