Gemotions

He’d sworn he'd seen a rat. Now, squinting into the gloom of the attic, Arthur realized the movement was a moth, not a rodent. He felt his face flush. He just wanted to repaint the eaves and had come up here for the drop cloths, but it was all turning out far more embarrassing than he'd anticipated.

A stack of meticulously catalogued taxidermied birds lined one wall, their glass eyes staring blankly at the dust-covered rafters. He took a hasty step backward, bumping into a large, ornate gramophone. The thought of finding out why someone would *do* that felt deeply unsettling.

He caught his breath. It was bad enough his wife thought he was a neat freak. Now he was seeing evidence of his home's previous inhabitants' questionable habits. He quickly grabbed the drop cloths, as though it were a robbery, and scurried back downstairs, hoping no one had noticed his red face.