I Have a Lot in Common with Little Rabbit Foo Foo

I'm not much of an outdoorsman. I wish I were cut out of that fabric (say, um, burlap?), but I'm more of a satin type gal. Don't give me rough, thankyouverymuch -- I'm comfortable with smooth. In a nutshell: Steve Irwin & I would NOT have made a good pair. He'd be caressing a snake, saying "Crikey, she's a be--UTE", and I'd be screaming & running for the safety of a nearby production van.

Aside from tinkering in my flower bed occasionally, I tend to migrate indoors .... in the air conditioning (or heat), perhaps looking out the window and admiring nature without getting dirty, battling mosquitos, and encountering SCARY spiders.

I recently had yet another recent confirmation of being a "satin girl", which I'll share, even though it makes me look really bad. Really.

The kids & I discovered our cat, Peanut the Mighty Feline Warrior, toying with a big fluffy mouse right in front of our garage. He looked a lot like Gus from Cinderella, come to think of it. All the kids (who have more burlap content than their mommy) were pleading with Peanut to let the mouse go, and trying to intervene. The little guy was injured but still hanging in there. About that time, that mouse made a daring run, nay CHARGE, for the inside of our garage to escape.

My knee jerk reaction (literally) was to boot that mouse to prevent its entry into MY residence. Yep. It's true. I punted a poor, wounded mouse about half the length of our driveway. To the absolute horror of my satin-free children. Two of them burst into tears .... and I felt so awful, and rightfully so.

But in my mind, THIS is what I saw:

I'm not sure there's a valid self-defense argument in my crime of mouse punting, but I'd like to assert that defense for the record. Is there a notary in the house?

Sing it with me, my new theme song: Little Rabbit Foo Foo, hoppin' through the forest, scooping up the field mice and bonkin' them on the head.

If you'd like to send a Get Well Card to Gus, he's hanging out at a nearby stream where Greg took him, quite possibly nursing a throbbing headache.

Still love me?