Charlie came home from the grandson's little league game a bit ago.  I
wasn't feeling well and was lying down.  But he still found it necessary to
come and ask me if I'd let one of the cats out while he was gone.  Yes Molly
had escaped.  As she does most evenings given a shred of a chance.  But then
that should have been obvious from his following complaint.  Complete with
vivid nauseating description about the mouse on the back step, right in
front of the door, and how unpleasant stepping on it was.  And how would I
go dispose of it?

Told him I've had the experience - barefoot.  And to go take care of
disposal himself.  Or let it wait till morning.  Sheesh.  I know he can't
handle things like that and spiders and bugs and dead birds and etc are my
job.  But no I'm getting out of bed in the middle of the night!

Not really complaining about the role reversal as long as he does laundry.

Jo