There's a Mouse in the House

Every morning when he comes down to make his oatmeal and discovers my feces, which resemble enlarged caraway seeds, on the kitchen counter, he growls, “You little motherfucker.” And you should have heard him on Monday morning, when I got up onto the dining room table, which the missus had thought unimpregnable, and feasted on one of the 39-cent avocadoe…