With Saruman dead, life would be great. No more would Jonah's noodles get eaten as fast as he recieved them. No more would our mousetraps be hairy and unglued. No more would mice scurry across our floors. Now the mice would be afraid.

Then the sandstorm hit.

Our window blew out, our door flapped wide open, and our belongings were swallowed up in dust. We, too, awoke under a layer of dust...and breathing was rough. We didn't know whether this storm was the contrivance of the ghost of Saruman, the brainchild of all of Saruman's siblings, or the revenge of a super mouse...Sauron.

While we would certainly survive the storm, we couldn't help but wonder how much more our shack could handle. The shack--a tin box that had little wall support, a roof with holes bigger than Arkansas, and a rubber cover that kept away the rain--was dancing to the tune of a wind-driven percussion. The shack was a windchime.

Two days later, when it finally ended, the shack still stood. Maybe it barely stood, maybe it stood strong...and maybe it just stood. Yesterday, though, two mice were spotted running around our floors.

Time to get to work...there were mice to catch.