We have eight cats (or eight cats have us, actually). They’re indoor except that they have a sizable screened-in porch where they can bask in the sun, lounge and be otherwise lazily catlike. They share the porch with two bunny rabbits. (All the fuzzies are rescues, mmmkay?! We just couldn’t say no to them.)
We live in the country. Lots of critters out here, lots of insects and such. The porch is enclosed, but sometimes critters and insects still make their way inside. It’s just part of living in Boondockia. You see where I’m going with this, right?
Anyway, last evening as I worked diligently on Witch Blood, I heard Wiggle, (the fattest of our cats, but surprisingly the best hunter. I think he’s very motivated by food in general.), meowing with his mouth full. I know this particular meow. It’s the meow that says, I have something rich and juicy and YOU CAN’T HAVE IT. This is the meow I heard moments before Wiggle once dropped a half dead horsefly in my lap. (I’m the mommy cat and therefore eligible for special “gifts”.) This is also the meow I heard when Wiggle dragged a huge lizard into the living room, dropped it wriggling on the floor and thus incited the Great Lizard Olympics of 2005. I remember it well because the lizard…er, okay, I won’t go there. I need more coffee for that.
I freeze, hand hovering over my laptop keyboard. Wiggle races past, followed by 7 cats with eager expressions on their faces, (eyes bright, whiskers forward, ears pricked). Just as Wiggle disappears down the hallway, I see a gray tail hanging from between his greedy cat lips.
Me: Oh, shiiiiiiit.
So I race off after the pride, following them into the bedroom just in time to see Wiggle taking his yummilicious prey under the bed. I flip on the light, thus jarring my sleeping husband into full sputtering (pissed off) wakefulness and start babbling about cats and mice.
The chase ensues. Up, down, all around we pursued Wiggle through the house followed by the other 7 cats who desperately want a piece of the squeaky action. FINALLY, we corner Wiggle and make him give up his treat. And get this…the mouse survived!!
In the dark, my husband and I instituted a quick mousie relocation program, complete with a new identity and a lovely brand new home of cut wood logs for the fireplace. We admonished mousie to stay out of the porch. I hope he heeds our warning, though one would think that having a fifteen minute joy ride in a cat’s mouth would be enough of a deterrent.