Hey mice, supper’s up!

We rarely spy field mice in the barn, thanks to our crack team of cats. When a rodent creeps out from the shadows to snarf down some spilled grain, that little beady-eyed vermin is toast. We find it’s head or entrails proudly displayed on our door step.¬†
Except when winter’s frigid temperatures set in.

Then our ruthless rodent-dispatching A-Team retires to the mudroom to bask in the warmth of the space heater. Mel and Frog meld themselves into an orange-gray orb and doze away the nights. Get up for breakfast? A can of cat food? Ug, that means leaving the God-of-heat all on its lonesome! Might as well stay put. Those stupid humans will dish out more food in the evening. Or the next day.

So, have at it, mice. Hang the disco ball, throw yourselves a kegger in the barn. Dive into the horse treats, gorge yourselves. You’ll make a tasty meal when the temperature warms up.