You're not going to believe this, and that's okay, because I wouldn't believe it either if I were you, but nonetheless it's true. Tuesday night Wardell was fiddling up such a racket that I popped him into a paper cup and put him outside. I could hear him out there, but at a distance cricket noises are much more soothing. Yesterday when I came home from work, I unlocked the door, and a little black blur whizzed past me into the house. Wardell! I won't pet-thropomorphosize to the extent that I believe he was waiting by the door all day to be let in, but... Anyway, if he wants to live here so badly, who am I to gainsay him? Except last night he was particularly loud. Turns out he had found that the cabinet under the kitchen sink is like the inside of an acoustic guitar. When I finally tracked him down, I opened the cabinet door and he popped out right in my face. I almost dropped a loaf right there on the kitchen floor. But I discovered I can scoot him along with a broom, and I broomed him into the bathroom and shut the door. The noise is almost tolerable in there, especially if I crank up My Chemical Romance and put the speakers next to my bed.