This may never grow old. Or I could run out of places to hide my little friend. Which is likely, quite soon. Or I may wake, one day, to a wee bitty clown with a cracked skull. Because SOMEONE decided this was fun:
I came home from work to this sight. I cried. All the teeny clown's friends looking on, unable to move the heavy rock trapping his head. Oh, the humanity!
Until I write again ...