notes of jubilee

I have a confession to make. A humbling admission. It's taken some time to get to the point where I am ready to divulge my secret.

I have a stalker. Okay, not a stalker, per se, but can you imagine the hits my blog will get for that little sentence?

But the Jubilant household has mice. Gulp.

There. I said it.

The relief is overwhelming.

I know I am not usually given to sarcasm, a-hem, but I hope, dear reader that you were able to detect it. Otherwise my career in writing has stalled even before it has really gotten started.

And how come, every time we see a picture of a mouse, it's cute and eating a piece of swiss cheese? Is cheddar too pedestrian? Is feta too fancy?

But, I digress . . . as is my wont.

I believe I mentioned a time or two that the Jubilant household has relocated. And we are thrilled. There's just this one little thing: the mice. I say mice, plural, because though I've only seen one, I assume where there is one, there are more.

And there certainly are. (Cue eerie music here)