Sunday Breakfast

Sunday Breakfast

“Do you think we have mice?” Tim asked.

“Well, something took the crumbs off that plate,” Beck answered, “and I think something’s been getting into the cabinets, how can you tell if it’s mice?” She asked, taking a box of cereal out of the cabinet.

“I think you look for droppings, what exactly do mouse droppings look like?”

“Let’s check the internet to be sure.” The young couple peered at the screen after typing in ‘How do you know if you have mice?’

“It says they would chew things, I didn’t see anything chewed… and there are no droppings, according to what this says they look like.”

“Well, half this cereal is gone, did you eat it?” Beck said accusingly, shaking the box at her new husband.

“No! And I’d certainly admit it if had, it’s not a crime! Did you eat it?” Tim shot back.

“No!” They glared at each other, then burst out laughing at the absurdity of the argument. “Maybe the contents of the box just settled,” Tim said, putting his arm around his new wife. “Let’s go out to breakfast!” They quickly dressed and headed off to their favorite diner for Sunday breakfast.

“Well,” said Aggie, “that was close! They usually don’t get up this early on Sunday! You know, I never thought Edgar’s screwy ideas had merit, but this certainly changed my mind.”

“I’m with you! I’ll never laugh at Edgar again.” Rune said, pulling at his sagging waistband as they scampered out from behind the canisters. “Who else would have ever thought of putting diapers on mice!”