We seem to have evolved beyond the era of the toy mouse in the water dish. A few nights ago there wasa noisy session of bat-bat-bat in the small hours, and in the morning a curious little keepsake of the Cute Engineer’s — a small metal cage meant to contain a pair of miniature dice, which look like real bone or ivory — was empty on the scatter rug. A little hunting on all fours yielded one of the dice, but the other was nowhere to be found. The topography of the upstairs made it unlikely that it went down the floor register (though admittedly, once upon a time, my late and ex doomed the last job he ever managed to get by adroitly dropping the key of the business down it). I figured sooner or later it would surface, or force me to do extreme dustmopping.
Today, on the stairs where Fergie prefers to dine, I found this.
Go figure. My cats can throw a boxcar accurately into a food bowl.
I’m amazed Mystery didn’t eat it.