Of Mice and Chipmunks

I once refused to sleep in a house where there was a mouse stretched out dead on the floor three floors below me. My newly-minted father-in-law drove a mile to my house to remove the heinous dead rodent, all of two inches long, because his son was away for the night. Father of three sons that he was, he found that task about as curious as he did my long ponytail, high heels and make-up. “What,” he wondered, “would be the harm of sleeping three floors above a tiny,

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