New year, old problem.

19 February 2005 - 7:25 p.m.

It is a place of sanctuary. A place for growth, for peace, and sometimes a way of showing off to nosy neighbours. It is a place in which great things can happen.

It is not a playground.

It is certainly not a restaurant.

It is my greenhouse.

All of my lovingly tended seeds have been eaten, trampled upon, thrown about or merely chewed up and spat out.

Just like my patience.

Once again, I have had to take steps to protect the young and innocent from these furry insurgents.

The plan is to catch all terror suspects using advent calendar chocolate as bait. I will then send them (without trial) to a detention centre about half a mile away. Camp Criticism will not know what has hit it (until the sun rises and they discover they have been on the receiving end of bad company for once). And I am guessing that the nocturnal army will have a better and more varied diet.

The score so far:

Mice: 2
Eloira: 1

Wait, go back a bit! - Onward ho!

E 's hugs


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