I want a tank. I've always wanted a tank. After all a tank is just a jazzed up SUV. A tank will be very useful when the government comes to get me, the world ends or when my neighbors get cranky. It will do wonders for traffic jams and will keep road rage down to a manageable level. I should be able to have my tank.
I don't care if tanks mess up the road. Half the nation doesn't pay taxes and I do, so I should be able to shop at the local auto and tank show. I won't register my tank because it's no one's business what I own it says so in the constitution, which by the way is not a living document. Nothing has changed since 1775 or whenever.
Because I'm poor I'll settle for an old but usable Bradley.

Relative

Festus mouse arrived. Apparently he's Eberts twin. We told him Ebert had come to a striking end, nonetheless he seems to have taken up house underneath the stove. Grover throws his food around and two nuggets remain out of reach. Festus must think he's landed a good berth. Ha!

Winnie keeps going out after dark. She's digging again and if she's recruiting mice for entertainment I'm going to entertain her. Royally.