I Apprehend a Mouse

Adult male has been cleaning the lower level of the house, removing what he calls junk, and putting gray paint on the floor.  Fortunately, it is a light gray color, which is an advantage for those among who are interested in the creatures who may live in the lower regions -- what my human friends refer to as the "basement."

The light gray color is perfect for showing off the darker gray hues of the mice who occasionally can be found there.  Not that my ever-sharp eyes and nose are failing me -- I have not become a senescent cat -- but all assistance is appreciated when it comes to mousing.

The other benefit of the cleaning efforts is that they upset the creatures, whose sad little homes are destroyed by the removal of the junk.  They run about, looking for their former nests in vain.  That means that they are vulnerable to attack.

Last night, for example, a very small mouse ventured into the human-occupied portion (for humans -- I can live anywhere, of course) of the basement.  Although I was resting on one of the battered chairs that comprise the furniture in the lower level, I am always alert to possibilities.  My keen nose  picked up the scent of the creature immediately, and I was off.  To hounds! (as my English relatives might shout).

I was but a few seconds apprehending the creature, which was quite young, and very sleepy.  I carried it upstairs gently, as I did not wish to harm it further and thus limit my pleasure.  Some cats are quite good at delayed gratification, as the humans call it.  Mistress does not think I am one of them, I can tell.  Little does she know!

I placed the creature upon the carpet so that it could recover a little.  However, I kept a very careful eye upon it, in case it had any thought of escape.  My intense focus caught the eye of Mistress, who observed that I was "On the prowl."  She clearly did not see the creature at first, whose dark gray fur blended nicely with the navy blue pattern on the carpet.

Once both humans had become aware of the creature, I pounced in order to display my prowess.  It was surprisingly fast for one so young and injured. Adult male wanted me to play with it, but Mistress thought that was "inappropriate."  What a stupid word.  "Inappropriate" for whom?

In any event mistress took hold of a plate with a handle -- I've heard her refer to it as a dustpan -- and scooped up the creature, opened the door and tossed it into the night.  Adult male, who appears to appreciate my abilities in this area far more than Mistress, gave me some kibble as a reward for mousing.  I do not think he fully appreciates why I like to catch mice.  Housecats chase mice for the thrill of the chase, not the meal that may or may not appear at the end.

However, I am always grateful for any contribution, so I pounced on the kibble as if it were a mouse and made short work of the few pieces that he put on my platter. He seemed pleased and referred to me as a. "Good little mouser."  It was a demeaning comment, but his heart is in the right place.