In our home, critters outnumber people. We have a darling, very curious bunny named Baby. We have four (no, I am not kidding!) tree frogs named Carlos the 2nd, Chocolate and...ummm....
Tiny? Lime? Hopper? Honestly, I lost track several frogs ago. We also have a continually changing cast of crickets with which to feed the frogs. (And no, I do not wish to receive email from the Cricket Liberation Front or Crickets Against Tree Frogs or any other such organization. But thank you for your concern.)
Rounding out our menagerie are two rather grumpy old ladies, cleverly disguised as 17 year old cats. If you have never lived with old women, or old cats, let me just tell you...they are very fond of complaining. And Thou Shalt Not Change the Routine. Ever. Never, never, ever!
We have also provided temporary shelter for a wounded bird, a wild baby bunny, a skink, several toads, a hamster, a colony (or whatever you call it) of lady bugs, a goldfish and some other reptilian (amphibian?) creature. (I have no idea what it is called, but I am sure my son could give you its biography, resume and social security number.)
As you may have guessed, all of these animals mean more work for Mama. I frequently proclaim that there will be no more living things inhabiting my house until something dies. Apparently, God does not agree. This morning my daughter, Little Runner Girl, came to my husband, The Saint, and said "Daddy, there is a weird scratching noise in my ceiling".
Yes, there is something scratching, and also chewing, in the ceiling above her dormer window. An inspection of the attic and roof did not reveal the entrance to the critter's new apartment. And, of course, a call to the professionals resulted in "We'll be out some time next week". Goodness. Thanks so much! So until next week, we have another critter. With my luck, it will be the thing that dies.