Yes, we have a part of the house called the “shanty.” It fits.

My first thought was that it was Brutus; I still forget he’s not alive any more. As soon as I remembered that it could not have been him, I figured we’d caught another mouse.

Again, we call it the shanty for a reason.

Friday, shortly after arriving home, mom found a salamander in the mouse trap. Because I am loathe to see one die, I removed it and carried it outside to the damp ground where it promptly crawled away. I am familiar with the Trap Rescue procedure.

I easily found the mouse, pinched in the trap. It was lying amidst the clutter of three mouse traps — fine, the shanty is a sieve — near the base of the 5,000 year old International Harvester deep freeze which, though it had worked well since before my time, had given up the ghost about a year and a half ago. It remained in the shanty, since I think the place was probably built around the behemoth.

Anyway, there was the mouse. It was belly up, head and neck in the trap. I figured it was dead, even if I had come across it shortly after his curiosity had bested him. I picked the trap up with the tiny little body in it, and began making my way to the door to return the mouse to nature. Dust to dust, and all that.

There was twitching.

I chalked it up to death spasms. I felt bad about it. Mice are destructive, and desire to infect the world with the Hanta virus, sure, but they’re cute. I imagine them with little saddles on their furry backs. I don’t know why I imagine them like that, but I also imagine my sister’s chihuahua with a tiny saddle on her back, so I guess I’m obsessed with domesticating small critters. Once outside, I gently opened the trap and let the little mouse fall to the leaf-covered ground.

It lay there. It twitched. Then it was still. Then it twitched some more.

Gosh, the poor thing is probably cold, I thought. How horrible it must be to be out for an evening shopping trip, stop for a little peanut butter, get your head and neck slammed tight into a plastic torture device of some sort, get picked up by a massive giant, and dropped to the ground in the cold air. I decided that though the mouse was going to die, it deserved to die in some kind of a warm sleeping bag. I want to provide full service at the farm for all creatures.

I went to mom’s rag drawer and found a square of white sheet that she’d used, from the smell of it, to clean windows. Back outside, I carefully folded it, placed the mouse, still lying still though I could see it breathing, in the middle of the cloth, and tucked it around him.

Sometimes it’s just nice to be tucked in.

I held it for a moment. It was pretty cute, the fuzzy brown body with the chubby white stomach, all tucked into the Windex-scented sleeping bag.

Man, I hope I’m not just gassing it, I thought as I put the mouse on a fluffed pile of grass. I could certainly smell a whiff or two of ammonia. Whatever the case, I gave the little critter a pat, retucked it in leaving room for its nose out the top, and went inside. At that point, it looked pretty dead.

The next morning I went out, and lo and behold, the death shroud was empty and the mouse was gone.

I wonder if its disciples came and stole the body.

My sister Janet gave my mom a kind of sprayer nozzle for the kitchen sink. In theory, a person would simply screw it onto the faucet and that would be that. In actuality, however, the process involved:

1. “I think it’s on there crooked, Jack.”
2. “I know, Judy!”
3. Dad goes to find a pliers.
4. “Don’t we have any blasted pliers in the house?!”
5. @$!?!!%&!
6. He goes out in the storm to the garage to look.
7. Mom attempts her own fix, breaking a small piece.
8. “Oh dear.”
9. “Don’t tell dad,” I said. “It’ll only get worse.”
10. “I broke a piece,” she said.
11. “Maybe it’s time to just let me handle it!” he said.
12. Several more attempts.
13. $!*&@!?!!
14. “Is it still leaking?”
15. Dad turns on the faucet and it shoots a spray of water right in his eye.
16. $&!!?@$!!
17. No, we did not get it to work.

Part two of our Christmasly adventure involved my decision to do the laundry. It should have been a minor task, had not the clothes washer decided to leak water all over the floor.

Repeat a similar version of the scene as found above, with the addition of several towels.

Good call. The mail was a little late in arriving so we had lots of time to kill. Since the store/cafe wasn’t open today, the Post Office was the place to meet for food, and so dad and I hovered around the Christmas goodies while mom chatted with other people also waiting for their mail.

Few breakfast foods can compete with Mexican wedding cookies, sugar cookies, cake donuts, and a continued assortment that I’m ashamed to admit scarfing down.

As we were finally preparing to leave, my winter survival skills kicked in.

“I’d better take some for the road,” I said. “Just in case.”

I grabbed a few more candies and dad moved closer to the plate of cookies yet again. I made a comment about how it was so typical to find us attached to the Christmas cookie buffet table, and that it was no surprise we’d be filling our pockets with such things. It was at that moment that mom wandered over and grabbed another cookie.

“One should never put out a plate of goodies when the Neidlingers come to town,” I said as we walked out to the car. “We hit those trays pretty hard.”

“Put out a plate of carrots and celery instead,” Dad said. “We wouldn’t touch it.”

Mom didn’t say anything. She was busy eating cookies.

According to the official web site, the Snuggie is a “pop culture phenomenon.” Mainly, though, it’s a blanket with arms.

Mine is blue.

It came with a free book light.

Upon arriving back at my apartment, I opened the box and realized I had no idea how to use it. That’s right: I didn’t know, exactly, how to use it. I have education and skills, but this product eluded me.

The people on the box were using it like a quasi-clothing device, a sort of extended poncho.

I just didn’t see it. It was a big blanket. With arms.

My first attempt to use it made me look like Gandalf, because I had it on backwards. It seemed too much like a hospital gown otherwise, but there seemed no other way around that effect.

“You might find this hard to believe,” I later told my friend, “but I couldn’t figure out how to use it. The box contained no instructions.”

“It’s a blanket with arms.”

“You don’t know how much that confuses me,” I replied.

Was usage of the arms a requirement?

There was a photo on the box of some people sitting at a sporting event, wearing their Snuggies like clothing and/or a bib, cheering. They also somehow looked like they were wearing a turtle neck shirt. I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be going out in public with my Snuggie. As someone noted on my Facebook page after I announced the gift, he wanted a Snuggie, but didn’t want anyone to know it.

I don’t know how those people at the sporting event pulled it off. I put my Snuggie on in a similar manner as they, and it draped down and dragged across the floor. It would be impossible to walk in.

How are the people on the box seemingly mobile in their Snuggie? I wondered. I checked the box again. One size fits all, the box read. How is that even possible? I thought. Is it clothing or a blanket? Do blankets come with sizing phraseology?

I spent a few minutes trying to determine the classification of the Snuggie.

I spent a few more minutes trying to determine how it was different than capes, shawls, cloaks, and other traditional outerwear.

I decided that the Snuggie was, basically, a blanket with arms.

I just can’t do any better than that.

Here are the cookies we made tonight. Can you figure out a few of them?