When we are doubtful about something, sure enough, most of us turn to the Internet to seek answers.
When a mom named Kelli Tarin spotted strange droppings at her daughter’s bedroom, she was left puzzled. As she had no idea what those droppings that kept appearing over and over again might be, she turned to the Facebook group Homemaking Tips and asked if anyone has ever seen anything similar.
She explained that she and her family moved into a new home in Texas and both she and her landlord turned to every pest control business they could think of, but no one was able to identify the droppings.
“Anyone know what this could be? I have found two piles of these. Only in my daughters room. I clean it almost every day. This Is something that happened QUICK,” she wrote alongside a photo of a pile of what she described as looking like “coffee grounds.”
Many were quick to share their theories. “I can’t really tell but I’m being so honest if there little ‘flying ants’ their a type of termites. I had them in my first house as an ‘adult’ and they would pop up and I’d vacuum them, and then they’d pop right back up,” someone wrote.
Another person suggested it could be “rat poop,” and a third suggested placing a camera in order to see where those droppings were coming from.
Kelli explained that she had revised all of the Internet users’ suggestions, and it wasn’t any of the potential pests as she went through the list, which included mice, roaches, and bats.
“We called TWO pest control companies yesterday. Literally BOTH of them said they have never seen anything like this. Ever,” she wrote. “If it were terminates, they said the droppings or whatever they leave behind is completely different. What’s left behind is literally crunchy. Almost seed like. It’s very strange.”
The mystery was finally solved when a comment under Kelli’s post caught her attention.
“I red [sic] a comment from someone that said their kids lavender bear busted opened and this was inside. Sure enough, when I picked up toys from here, there was a lavender blush [sic] bear in the pile.”
She was curious to take a peek inside her daughter’s bear through a hole she noticed. “I poured out the contents and these beads were inside!!!
I have laughed for 30 mins. Imagine my relief.”
We are glad she has finally figured it all out and got rid of the strange droppings.
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I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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