Minnie was the kind of person who liked to yell at the TV when she watched costume dramas. Often she had a glass of wine by her side, but not always, because having wine every night would mean she was a drunk.
Vinnie considered it a sort of manly honor to rake the leaves, but he drew the line at picking up the 12 million gumballs that goddamn tree dropped every year. Some of them naturally came up with the leaves, but many were left behind, and that’s where his son came in.
Timmy wondered when he’d ever be able to reach the light switch. Everything would be so much better if only he could get up there.
Fluffy pushed herself up from her fleece-lined perch, stretched, yawned, and lay back down again. “So many mice, so little time,” she drawled.
Buffy looked around the room, scanning the mostly unfriendly faces, and then the question entered her mind, unbidden: “What would Don Draper do?” Not that he would ever have been faced with a roomful of vampires, but still, it was interesting to think about.
The mice considered their options carefully, knowing their next move could cost them everything. Was it worth the risk?
The table felt neglected. It had been days since the family had used it for a meal, and it was heaped with papers, toys, electronics, you name it.
Out in the shed, the empty flowerpots were stacked neatly, waiting for spring. Inside, Mathilde settled down with a mug of Darjeeling and a stack of seed and plant catalogs.
Every so often, the thought entered her mind, but she usually shoved it away and went back to whichever of the thousand daily tasks she was in the middle of. It just didn’t seem wise to dwell on it, and she was pretty sure it was illegal anyway.
“Can I ask you something, Ron?” Hermione called from the kitchen. “It’ll only take a minute.”
“It better,” he said, shuffling in with a vacant yet annoyed expression, “Quidditch is on.”
Mama-Come-Lately 
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