Everything's about tiny men nowadays...

Max stopped cleaning, and looked up at me.
 "What're we going to do with all the Smurf bits?"
I looked at the small pile he'd made. Sure, we could probably dispose of the dead mice easily enough: If anyone asked too many questions, we could pretend to be mice exterminators, I suppose. We could even buy fake moustaches, overalls and a painted truck, if things got out of hand. But Smurf parts, on the other hand, we probably not binnable. And I don't think we can put them in the recycling either...
 Gathering the pieces up, I headed into the house to find an envelope. With any luck, the Internet will soon yield me James Cameron's home address... I'm not entirely sure what brought this on...