The Ghost Of Monty

Yesterday, appropriately on Thanksgiving, Monty comes in from the cold.  Recall Madeleine's hamster escaped two weeks ago after only four days in her possession, poor dear.  Ever since, the Shakespeares have filled a food-bowl nearby where the rodent last seen on the second floor.  Each morning it's empty. Sunflower seeds found in hidden corners. Sonnet maintains composure. During her escape, we hear scratchings in odd places: the kitchen over the stove; under Eitan's bedroom carpet. Madeleine's bedroom. Me, I hear nut-ting.  Until last night when, quietly reading, a scuffle of little feets across the carpet making a beeline for the radiator. Yes, Monty.  After about an hour of patient waiting, Monty's nose pokes out every now and again then - WHAM! I nab her. The whole thing entirely silly accept for this morning when Madeleine close to tears of happiness knowing her hamster returned.  No doubt, this story will be told over and over and over and over .. . .


Me, at bed time: "Knock if off! You kids are acting wild."
Madeleine: "Well, Dad, we were born to be wild."


Madeleine: "So then, um, I made a hamster trap. And I put a trail of hamster food across the (upstairs, carpeted) hallway into a shoe box. And mum was, like, um, not very happy about that. And so she told me to put the trap away."