He lived like a mouse and died in the kitchen.
My 3 1/2 year old monroe piercing is irritated now, after all this time. Since it is swollen, and I could not find my larger ring for it, I screwed the top off, and tried to remember not to talk too much, or anything like that. Last night, when I was making dinner, I tasted the delicious peanut-coconut sauce I was making, and it fell out. I heard it fall, so I did not swallow it or drop it in the sauce or anything, but, it was nowhere to be found. I was really pissed off, because things like that happen all the time--they just disappear--so Derek took over looking for it for me. It ended up rolling under a crack in the strip of wood beneath the cabinets. You wanna know what else was under there? A smelly, dead mouse. I had my face on the floor looking for my ring, and I thought we just had a stinky garbage can, but no. He had to peel it off the floor, and he said there was blood and fur sticking to the floor, too. We decided to give him a proper burial, so we brought him to a secluded canal-side park and buried him under a weeping willow tree. That's when Derek decided to get frisky. I guess funerals are sexy.
RIP, Ratty.
RIP, Ratty.