In the 0'darkhundred hours, Huckle was at the foot of the stairs making his noises that only mean one thing: shut the bedroom door or you may step on a dead thing in the morning.
I reminded Doug when he got up to check for a body when he went downstairs. There was no body, he reported. Just a face; a mouse face: nose, eyes, whiskers. No body, no skull.
I may retch if I see a tail when I clean out the cat box.
It's hard to be an animal lover when you have a cat. I hope this wasn't one of the mice I rescued from the pool (there was the one I was psychic about, and then another one about a week later).