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Bill called us over to his condo before we went on our hike. He wanted a picture of us shrieking
and jumping up on the ottoman in terror. But he failed to consider that we have a garden and we have cats,
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and just aren't so easily offended by dead mice under the ottoman. (Though Frank's nose was a bit offended
the evening before, while lying in the comfy chair after dinner. But he was too polite to complain about the
stench of rotting carrion under the ottoman, and just left it at that).
The Dead Mouse would resume decomposition (dessication, actually) on the balcony.
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