The house was peaceful.
I was chopping rhubarb. Squidget was coloring. My sister was in the living room.
Then a brazen mouse scuttled across the kitchen floor, headed directly for my toes.
I screamed. Squidget cried. My sister, who couldn’t see the mouse and had no idea why I was screaming, thought the pitch and length of my scream warranted jumping on the couch.
The mouse, perhaps, was the most scared of all and splayed its legs out to hunker down, frozen for a full second or two before beelining it for safety.
If I had been thinking straight, I could have thrown my knife at the rodent. Then again, I could have missed.
Meanwhile, Bella was outside. So I let her in — after all I saw her crunching on a bunny the day before Easter. Bella, though, had other plans.
(To get my sister off the couch, though, I had to tell her Bella caught the mouse.)