Yesterday all of our friends said goodbye to the Cape and left my husband and I on our own in the Windy Gulch beach shack. We experienced a short period of empty nest syndrome, but soon settled into our own routine. Because we were only 2, we moved over to the attached "cottage" (a.k.a. converted garage) where in our first week LH had stayed and had successfully survived having a mousetrap bring a close to the life and career of a small field mouse who had taken up residence.
We had been in the cottage approximately 8 hours and I had given up on any hope of sleep in the torture chamber described in the Windy Gulch property brochure as spacious and airy bedroom. I moved out to the main room which consists of kitchenette, table/chairs, love seat and two twin beds. Lo and behold a small visitor skittered around the edge of the room and then disappeared into a small cupboard in the corner. Hmmm...I know we had emptied the trap of our furry friend...so this either a spirit siting or a relative.
The next morning, as I sipped my juice and watched the rolling surf from the adjacent deck, said Mouse once again made himself known, slowly zig-zagging across the wooden slats seeking a dropped crumb here and there. Whether it was the peace of the ocean surf or the resignation of a beach shack dweller finally accepting my surroundings, in my mind the phrase arose....The Mouse is Dead...Long Live the Mouse.