The right socks were gone, the spatulas too. Something bit my finger under the sheets, and tripped me with shoelaces when I went to the bathroom. The dog was upset, the lights started to flicker. It had been a rough day all around.
The kids were telling us that they found something weird. Two tiny holes in the walls of their room with bright green hairs stuck to the edges. “It’s just a mouse, Dear” I said to console her. “Mouses aren’t green, Mom.” The four year old had a point.
Then the clattering and shattering of glass commenced from the dining room. We all rushed in, already guessing what we’d see. My curio cabinet, which used to be filled with miniature forms made of crystal, was a mess of jagged edges and iridescent shards. Tiny mirrors of varying sizes were laid neatly in place, they looked untouched. But their occupants all had been decimated; it looked like a battlefield.
That was it. I had had it. Mess with my socks, give me a goose egg on my head, fine. But when you destroy the Swarovski Crystal menagerie, it’s war.
We followed the scritching along the baseboards then lured them out from a socket with marshmallows. They were so cute and so happy we couldn’t bear to hurt them. So now, they are our new pets, and we keep them in the garage.