My cat, Lulu, knows how to ruin a gal’s evening. She is prone to bringing in dead and live critters into the house. Sometimes I find the bloody remains of a feathered friend, along with lots of feathers. Sometimes it’s a mouse. One time she left a cute little bunny rabbit’s gory head on my living room floor. Shudder. On a good day she’ll have a critter that still lives and I can even save them.
Last night she skulked into the house. I didn’t take the time to look her way, but I should have. Many times I can sometimes tell if she has something in her mouth. Last night, I didn’t. It was when I kept hearing her collar bell that I knew something was up. Why was she moving around so much that her bell would dingle? Of course, she’s playing with something, in this case a little mouse.
Lulu was on the counter and I didn’t see the mouse right away, but when I reached for Lulu to see what was going on Lulu moved and dropped the mouse onto the kitchen floor.
No, I didn’t scream. I’m getting used to this – no squealing at the sight of a mouse. The only yelling I did was at Lulu as she jumped down to grab the mouse. I was also going after it too. She reached it first. Here’s where I made my mistake. My goal was to save the mouse. I didn’t want Lulu to crunch down, especially when I could hear the crunch. I pushed Lulu aside, the mouse skittered across the floor, Lulu and I both pounced, getting in each other’s way, and that cute little mouse scurried behind the refrigerator.
It may still be there. I tried moving the refrigerator to scare the mouse out, while Lulu watched intently. No luck. No sweet talking like Cinderella or Snow White seemed to help – I couldn’t talk the silly thing out from behind the fridge.
In the past when Lulu and I worked at cross-purposes I would go to bed and wake up to discover the inner organs of whatever animal had got away. So, I went to bed hoping that the cute little mouse would be torn apart by my killer cat. Anything to get rid of the mouse. So, what did I see when I woke up?
That dang mouse is still in my kitchen! Of course, with my luck, it’s bound to be carrying the plague, hanta virus, or a mutated version of the bird flu.
My only hope is the joy of seeing bloody remains on my kitchen counter when I return home from work. That’s a sad thing to hope for.