I Should Probably Tell Disney And Dunkin Donuts

A few weeks ago, whilst in the midst of worrying myself into a small smooth stone over Stace’s test results, I got a box of six doughnuts.  Boston cream, to be precise.  Stace and Brian were sleeping in our room that night, and I went into Brian’s room.  Around three in the morning, noises woke me up.

This, in itself, is unusual.  My father once slept through an earthquake, and I sleep more deeply than he did. 

“What the hell?” I thought, and wandered into the kitchen.  On the long journey of around four and a half steps, I pondered the possible source of the noise.  And I wanted cider.  Arriving in  the kitchen, I found nothing amiss.  Still, I heard a scratching sound.  Then the doughnut box moved.

I’ve had quite a few unique experiences that most people would consider paranormal or at the very least freaky.  Still, self-motive pastries are a new one.  Then, another move, then the lid lifted and a wee nosie poked out.  No, not Black Adder’s Queenie, a long tailed rodent with the initial J wondering if in fact I would be his Tom.  Considering my lack of tail and only occasional hairballs, I passed on the opportunity.

“You don’t pay rent, Chief,” I muttered, really glad that I was the one that found it.  I picked up the box and tossed it outside.  The mouse scampered away.  Don’t know if he had chocolate on his face.  As I put the box in the garbage can, I figured that it was a good thing I found it.  Had it been Stace I can imagine a panicked squeal followed by me being awakened to deal with the Grey Intruder.  Had it been Brian he would either want to keep it as a pet or never enter the kitchen again.


~ by Sean on October 9, 2008.

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