Last night, at 2.30pm I was woken up by a primeval howling. Thinking that our female cat was sick, I shot out of bed.
Somewhat bleery eyed, I flicked the light in the living room, to find madam playing with a live mouse. A great deal of scurrying (mine and hers) took place before the mouse outwitted us and disappeared through a hole I didn’t know we had behind the kitchen cabinets.
It explains why madam has been staring for hours at the space under our fridge.
Rewind several days ago. I watched, fascinated as Mr Tom Cat Sofa Dweller dozed (seemingly) on the middle of the driveway. Then without warning he jumped up and raced head first to our retaining wall. My initial thought was “He’s finally lost the plot, he is mentally deranged”. Oh, no, he managed to catch a mouse. I called my husband and we watched him dangle the wee thing out of his mouth. But then came the funny part. He stopped and looked at us myopically, then trotted around the outside of the house several times. “He’s not sure what to do.” I told hubby. “He has surprised even himself, and now after the victory parade, he’s figuring out what is step two”.
As we were on the way out, we had to leave him to it. We hadn’t figured on him bringing the mouse inside for further entertainment. In fact, when we returned, he had that “full” look that a cat has after eating something forbidden. So we teased him for a day or two.
So, it transpires he brought the mouse to his sister to ask her what to do with it.
Dear me. A moose loose in the hoose.
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