Twenty feet in matters of life and death.
Does 20 feet change whether you want to end or save life?
Okay. It’s not like I consider that much. Even on long swims in the pool when my mind desperately searches for something to ponder other than a continual loop of The Magical Mystery Tour.
Early one morning last week, I slipped out of the house to go swim.
About an hour later than I hoped but still early enough that everyone was sleeping.
Stepping toward the car, I noticed the cats on full alert. Each black and white hair at attention. Backs crouched, bodies rigid and heads tilled down with eyes focused as a laser.
They’ve got some poor creature trapped.
Darn it when these things happen and I’m late.
I stopped and went toward their stares.
Oreo, the bigger of the feline beasts, darted toward an furry thing.
A mole. Or so I thought.
But no. On further inspection it was a mouse.
A little brown Stuart Little. Without clothes of course.
Ugh.
That mouse was good as eaten like a tater tot crispy golden brown out of the oven.
I pulled Oreo off the thing. Fished my keys out of my bag. Opened the door and pushed his protesting body inside.
Same with Daisy. Our other petite feline. In she went.
On my way to the car I checked on Stuart.
Actually first he was just standing there on the drive. Shaking uncontrollably, his little paws super-glued to the asphalt.
When I bent down to him, that’s when he scampered under this planter.
Little frighted booger.
You know. I couldn’t help but wonder why in December, when a mouse — maybe even a distant cousin of this fellow — was terrorizing my kitchen . . .
a.) my cats could care less.
b.) I tried to kill it with everything in my limited arsenal. Poison, sticky traps. Bribing the cats with a year’s worth of Fancy Feast.
And today, there was no way I could get in my car and drive to the pool and leave my cats batting this critter around like a shuttlecock.
Oh was a difference 20 feet makes. And being found inside the confines of my house.
Just ask Oreo.
Jamie- If it is one of the roof rats our neighborhood has acquired, please allow Oreo full access. That tail is too long to be a mouse. Protect the chipmunks, kill the rats.
20 feet does make a difference…however, I probably would have let the cats have at it. Well maybe not because I don’t want to see the aftermath and such. Yuck! It does look kind of cute though. Hmmm…dilemma for sure. I can’t believe you were able to take pictures of the mouse. I would have thought it would be terrified of you too and run away.
KC
Trish — it was the size of a walnut. It wasn’t a rat. But afterwards I did get to thinking what if he ends up in my kitchen?
KC, I think it still was in shock. It was shaking. I kept wondering why it didn’t scamper away.
What a difference 20 feet makes indeed. Nature is awesome and everything… Just not in my house.
I am one of those saps that gets a have a heart trap and relocates them to a better neighborhood. I love the picture of oreo. Looks fierce.
Zoe — we have done the same with squirrels that get in the attic. Then we take them to a galaxy far, far away to be released.
This is so great. I love the way you crafted your story.
I’ve been in similar situations with mice (and also with spiders). Outside = freedom and protection from cats and folded newspapers. Inside = assassination.
P.S. I love your pictures : )
My cat hunts mice ALL THE TIME. It grossed me out at first, but I’ve never caught her in time to prevent the inevitable.
Perspective is a wonderful thing. Inside the house you have rules and outside there are others. It makes perfect sense to me.