"Hey look, the house doesn't smell like death anymore!" George grinned at his mate and hoisted his bag higher on his back.
Thelma grinned. "Great. That must mean it's safe. Let's move in."
Finding an entrance wasn't a problem, and they soon found themselves in a warm, enclosed space right within the wall. George put down his suitcase. "Hey Thelma, there's a light comin' in through this wall--we could live right here!"
Looking up from hauling her own suitcase, Thelma nodded at George. "Good idea." She busied herself unpacking her things: toothbrush, soap, hairbows, while George explored their new home.
"Thelma!" she heard him call. "Lookie here! The last guys left their stash of food!" George had vanished out of sight.
"George?" she called. "George, where are you?"
His head popped in through the hole, partially blocking the light. His whiskers shook with excitement. "I just wanted to look around a bit. Look!" He held up a small green pellet. "Food! It's delicious. Kinda salty, though." He gnawed on it, crumbling bits onto his furry chest.
Thelma looked at him suspiciously. "George. . . I'm not so sure you should be eating that."
He ignored her. "I'm gonna go find some water."
Thelma pointed toward a dripping noise. "I think there's a leaky pipe over that way." She picked up one of the green crumbs George had left behind and sniffed it.
It smelled like . . . death.
"George, wait!" she yelled, dropping the pellet and racing after her mate. But he had fallen into the puddle, dead.