The darn cats are bringing in live critters left and right. I was walking through the kitchen and Tomi was staring at her food dish. Nothing unusual about that, she is a glutton and never misses a chance to lobby for a meal. Then I looked closer and I'll be damned: there was a small mouse sitting upright, his butt in the middle of Tomi's dish, happily nibbling away at a morsel of cat food. I looked at Tomi who seemed perplexed, perhaps stunned at the chutzpah of the rodent and said "Girl, are you going to sit there and let that mouse eat your lunch?" Since this brought no reaction, I ducked back around the corner to the pantry and got a clear plastic bin to capture the little guy. Tomi, seeing that I had the situation in hand, wandered off into the living room. "Really? You're not going to do a thing, you lazy house cat?" The mouse, evidently in gourmet seventh heaven with his tidbit of Friskies Seafood Platter, never flinched as I swooped down with the bin and trapped him. I lifted up Tomi's dish and away we went to the back 40, Mr. Mouse still nibbling away. How was the wine sir? Perhaps some dessert and a disgestif?
Twenty minutes later, I am heading out the door to pick up C from work and I notice Molls staring intently at the sofa. Oh, never a good sign but at least, Molls is a reliable pointer. I lift up the couch and sure enough, out scrambles a chipper. I open the slider and rush off to close all the doors to the rest of the house and return to no sign of him. C and I arrive home and now Bin is staring at the couch. It takes us a good 15 minutes to trap the critter and he is delivered to the back 40. Chippers are incredibly quick and I am sweating like a pig. C gives her evening workout a pass and collapses in the bath with a glass of wine.
I don't know what it is but spring and fall, the crew does this stuff. C's theory is that they feel sorry for us: they never see us hunt and bring stuff in, so in their eyes, we obviously are pathetic, incompetent hunters and cannot fend for ourselves. They haven't figured out how we manage to bring home the Little Friskies or my recent weight gain. I suppose felines have something similar to the Catholics: things in life that cannot be explained are mysterium fidei-the Mysteries.
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