I woke up suddenly, and looked at the clock. It was 2:15 a.m. Sunday morning. Really? I was awake at 2:15 on a non-work day?
Often, I can get back to sleep quickly. But all I could do this time was toss and turn. I went downstairs and had a drink of water. Three of my cats gathered in the kitchen and demanded to be fed. I poured some kibble in their bowls and then looked around. Where was Annie, the fourth cat?
I saw a dark shape swoosh across the dining room, which adjoins the kitchen. And I thought I heard a growl.
Why would she be growling? Annie is a sweet cat, a gray ball of fur who gets along with everyone. As I went through to the living room, I thought about the other times I’ve heard cats growl. Sometimes they’ll do it if they have a toy and don’t want anyone else to get it. They don’t growl at birds they watch through the window; they kind of bark. And when a neighbor’s cat ventured onto our deck and came face to face with our Maine Coon on the other side of a glass door, Teddy let out an agonized shriek.
Even when Teddy play fights with fellow cat Leo, they are more likely to hiss at each other than growl.
I didn’t want to entertain the thought that Annie had gone bonkers and was running around the house in the dead of night growling at ghosts.
She was huddled next to the upholstered chair in the living room, where I usually sit. I picked Annie up and carried her into the kitchen. I saw she had something hanging out of her mouth. Grabbing a paper towel, I pulled on the object.
It was a tail. Attached to a mouse.
I gagged, then places the carcass in the trash.
Next, I did the only thing I could possibly think of doing.
I ran upstairs, threw open the door, and woke my husband. “Paul,” I said, “we have a problem.”
He went downstairs to handle it and I got back into bed.
I don’t usually run from scary situations. I never kill spiders, for example; I relocate them. But there is something about half-eaten mice that sickens me. Not that I’ve seen that many of them, it’s true. But aren’t three or four enough?
Our house is about 146 years old, so one might think we were ripe for a mouse problem. But we’ve lived here 28 years and we’ve never had mice. Last year, we did have a problem with gray squirrels, who might have been in the attic, or just between the outside trim and the wall behind it. Once, we found a dead bat on the kitchen floor. I’m sure it was dispatched by one of our feline friends.
I know mice are a common household pest, and appear in houses far younger, and without the loose clapboards and such that we have. I’ve always thought we lucked out because we’ve always had at least two cats. Now, not only do we have our four indoor felines, we have three regular visitors who hang out in our yard, drink from the birdbath and try to poach songbirds. You would think any self-respecting mouse would stay well away from our abode.
When Sunday morning dawned, Paul reported that all had been quiet since the incident. But a few hours later, Leo went into Paul’s study, which is a small room off the dining room. Paul followed him in, shooed him out and then saw a mouse skitter across the rug. He artfully scooped the rodent into a jar, and let him out in the backyard.
I went to watch the release. The little fellow was quivering with fright, but he managed to scamper off, hopefully to find refuge in the woodpile.
An hour or so later, Teddy went into the study. Yes, Paul had to evict one more mouse.
We’ve been unable to figure out how they got in, but they only need a tiny opening. The good news is that we haven’t seen any in several days. Hopefully, they have found another home.
At this time of year, I can’t help but think of Clement Moore’s famous poem. But in our case, there was a creature stirring--at least until Annie chomped it. How’s that for a holiday image? I know I’m going to have to focus on dreaming of sugar plums as we charge toward the 25th — because otherwise I won’t be able to get the picture of that tail out of my head. And that’s not in the Christmas spirit at all.
She was huddled next to the upholstered chair in the living room, where I usually sit. I picked Annie up and carried her into the kitchen. I saw she had something hanging out of her mouth. Grabbing a paper towel, I pulled on the object.
It was a tail. Attached to a mouse.
I gagged, then places the carcass in the trash.
Next, I did the only thing I could possibly think of doing.
I ran upstairs, threw open the door, and woke my husband. “Paul,” I said, “we have a problem.”
He went downstairs to handle it and I got back into bed.
I don’t usually run from scary situations. I never kill spiders, for example; I relocate them. But there is something about half-eaten mice that sickens me. Not that I’ve seen that many of them, it’s true. But aren’t three or four enough?
Our house is about 146 years old, so one might think we were ripe for a mouse problem. But we’ve lived here 28 years and we’ve never had mice. Last year, we did have a problem with gray squirrels, who might have been in the attic, or just between the outside trim and the wall behind it. Once, we found a dead bat on the kitchen floor. I’m sure it was dispatched by one of our feline friends.
I know mice are a common household pest, and appear in houses far younger, and without the loose clapboards and such that we have. I’ve always thought we lucked out because we’ve always had at least two cats. Now, not only do we have our four indoor felines, we have three regular visitors who hang out in our yard, drink from the birdbath and try to poach songbirds. You would think any self-respecting mouse would stay well away from our abode.
When Sunday morning dawned, Paul reported that all had been quiet since the incident. But a few hours later, Leo went into Paul’s study, which is a small room off the dining room. Paul followed him in, shooed him out and then saw a mouse skitter across the rug. He artfully scooped the rodent into a jar, and let him out in the backyard.
I went to watch the release. The little fellow was quivering with fright, but he managed to scamper off, hopefully to find refuge in the woodpile.
An hour or so later, Teddy went into the study. Yes, Paul had to evict one more mouse.
We’ve been unable to figure out how they got in, but they only need a tiny opening. The good news is that we haven’t seen any in several days. Hopefully, they have found another home.
At this time of year, I can’t help but think of Clement Moore’s famous poem. But in our case, there was a creature stirring--at least until Annie chomped it. How’s that for a holiday image? I know I’m going to have to focus on dreaming of sugar plums as we charge toward the 25th — because otherwise I won’t be able to get the picture of that tail out of my head. And that’s not in the Christmas spirit at all.
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