It gets to be that a man can’t go to his kitchen without finding animal life. This shack is infested and here’s the lastest evidence:
I spent about 20 minutes trying to catch this fellow with a broom and a plastic bag, as I had accosted his Well-Remember’d Compatriot from the Kingdom of Cold Blood, but the damnable bastard proved crafty and dodged behind the refrigeration unit, where an open cubby hole leads to the dirt earth beneath the shack.
The domain of cats and possums and other sundries.
(Eagle-eyed readers will espy this flier on my fridge.)
