Keep telling myself - mice are the enemy

[brixtonbrood]

Mice in the house are A BAD THING. Think about Weil's disease. Think about their insanitary habits. Think about Tiny crawling round on the floor.
Repeat after myself. "Good Cat! Good Cat! take it outside and eat it now please."
Do not scream, do not scream.

Honestly, how wet am I? Last night I did scream when I unexpectedly found one with a dead mouse, and she growled at me impressively - none of this "Here you are, take this prize as an act of tribute mistress!", more a "My Mouse! Mine. You will prize it from my cold dead jaws (with severely lacerated fingers)." growl. Did you know that cats could growl?
Today I was much better when I found her in the act of catching one, and just shooed her gently out of the cat flap (where she inevitably lost it in the garden). Still, a vast improvement on our late lamented original cat: the mice used to steal chunks of food from his food bowl and secrete them in inaccessible corners to rot.

Comments

[smallbeasts.livejournal.com]

Chester lost a mouse in the kitchen, and it stayed there so long I started to call it Jerry. Sometimes I'd meet the mouse last thing at night, and I can tell you that it's actually quite hard to hit a mouse with a frying pan. Jerry eventually passed away from old age, and rotted aromatically under the dining room floor.

[brixtonbrood.livejournal.com]

The mouse proved to be only temporarily lost - either that or she found another one out in the garden and brought its corpse back to nibble on the Disembowelling Point, formerly known as the front door mat. When she lost interest I valiantly wrangled it into an Ocado bag and into the wheelie in.

[asajeffrey.livejournal.com]

Dog Lola is useless at any form of hunting (or anything remotely resembling hunting, such as fetch) but she did once find a squirrel corpse in the back garden, which she proudly brought to us for adulation and reward. Plastic bag. Wheelie bin.