Chester

Peter bought a house last fall and moved in just before Thanksgiving with his two roommates, Tim and Kev.

And Chester.

But Chester wasn’t invited.

Or welcome.

He was a freeloader of the worst kind.

Chester was a mouse.

A very smart mouse. He pretty much owned the place and went about at will, disregarding all manner of traps, both sticky and snap, and wouldn’t touch poison.

Chester became so famous for his ability to avoid getting caught, he even had a mention in our family Christmas letter.

Every night for months he would wander into the kitchen at the same time and make his rounds.

He got so cocky, he would walk into the living room while the guys were watching a movie and sit in the middle of the floor and watch with them.

This kind of attitude drove Peter and his roommates to take desperate measures.

They got a BB gun.

(I would not recommend this course of action.)

Then they sat, waiting to ambush that varmint.

Looking patiently for the perfect shot to take that freeloader out.

It took a few tries, for obviously hitting a small four legged moving target is harder than it looks, But they finally managed to wing him.

After all the excitement died down, they realized, to their dismay, that Chester had escaped.

They now had a wounded and angry mouse somewhere in the house. Desperate.

(Again, I would not recommend this course of action.)

They began to search for Chester. They looked everywhere.

The whole household was on alert. But no sign of the interloper was found.

Finally, days later, on a Tuesday evening at approximately 5:27, they found him.

He was under the ping pong table in the basement.

Dead.

While the official cause of death is unknown, a wound the size of a BB was detected on his back leg.

Rest in peace Chester.

You were a worthy opponent.

 

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