From a week abroad. NOT a week a broad, for that would be more like a lifetime, at least for THIS lifetime. Just a week.
The Favorite Husband decided to drive straight home from Augusta via the Kancamagus--if you can call that "straight"--so we didn't get home until 10:30 at night, which is WAY past Mojo's bedtime. So Mojo dragged herself straight to bed and collapsed and closed her eyes.
And heard the following: Cling...thud. Cling...thud. Cling...thud.
When the lights came back on, the sound stopped. Lights off, it started again. Clearly it is a conspiracy to drive Mojo insane.
What I finally found is this: at some point during the week we were away, a wee sleekit exploring the bedroom fell into the five-gallon change jar we have in the corner. And spent heaven knows how many days jumping, trying to get out.
The change jar went out the back door, and wee mousie eventually crawled to freedom. Didn't run--probably too tired for that. And, as my Favorite Husband noted, he probably walked straight back into the house.
Looks like it's time to get a new cat...