There's a special meow my cat makes when it's caught a mouse - a long, muffled call that brags, Look what I did! I'm a mighty hunter!!
Anyone who's ever had a cat knows what happens next. They carry it around. Put it down and wait to see what happens. The mouse huddles, weighing its options. Then it makes a break for it. The cat pins it down. Lets it go. Over and over and over, until you want to scream, put the poor thing out of its misery!
So last night I took action, and I sided with the enemy.
Like most homeowners, we have a long-running war on mice. They're always turning up: we'll find mouse nests in the car and our boat. We'll find tiny evidence in drawers. Even when we never see them, they always seem to make their presence known. We take action: we put dryer sheets in the drawers and traps in the basement and the garage. And of course, we have cats, who are supposed to do their job and keep the population down.
I just wish they'd do it a little more professionally.
I don't really want them as gifts, thank you. More than once I've found a mouse, or (ick) a portion of one lovingly placed outside our bedroom door as a friendly offering. I'm flattered, I guess, but ever since I found one in my shoe I've never been quite the same.
And I don't want to listen to the whole hunt. I wish they'd just hunt and kill, rather than making it into Game Night.
But it's a war, sort of, and I'm supposed to take sides, and I'm NOT supposed to be on the mouse's side.
So that's where things stood when our cat began the latest mouse scramble last night. I was reading when I heard her outside in the hall, making that muffled mew she makes when her mouth is full of mouse.
Sighing, I put down my book and waited for what would surely come next. There was a silence. That was her putting it down. Then a scramble; chasing it this way and that, crashing into the door, down the hall and back. Then a silence again. Scramble. Silence. Scramble.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I opened the door - big mistake. Now the party was in my room. Over and over the mouse tried to get away, darting under the dresser, dashing behind a pile of books, with no success.
I watched, chewing my lip. Get it over with! I thought. But it went on and on. And the mouse wasn't hurt yet, just terrified. I felt like a Roman citizen sitting in the coliseum watching the slaughter, thinking, I'd rather be home mending togas.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I took action and eventually I was clutching a coffee can, breathing hard, with a terrified mouse inside and my cat glaring at me in indignation. Hey! I could see her thinking. That's mine! Get your own mouse!
But I ignored her and marched downstairs and out onto the front porch, and then I opened the can and tipped it over. Out she (by that time I'd gotten a closer look) rolled, and then she crouched there, trembling.
We stared at each other In the porch light. One small mouse and one giant human. No traps or cats, just the two of us.
Now, I know it was probably a stupid thing to do. Believe me, I've been told again and again. Why rescue a mouse? It's just going to come back in. Then it'll brag about its escape and tell all the other mice that I'm a pushover, and my reputation will be ruined.
You can see where this is heading. If I let this one mouse go, she'll go back inside, settle down with a nice partner and have another hundred children, and soon we'll be overrun with mice, all of them plotting a mouse revolution. They'll steal all our food! They'll figure out our computer passwords! Next thing you know they'll have changed the locks and we'll be homeless! All because I let this one go.
She looked up at me. I looked back. She twitched her whiskers. Rubbed her ears.
Go on, I say roughly. Scram. She looked up at me accusingly, as if to say, What kind of establishment are you running here, anyway?
Finally she turned, and with one last flick of her tail, hopped off the step into the grass.
"Um, look out for owls," I called after her.
I suppose she headed back inside; she probably beat me there.
But I feel like we all need another chance, you know? If it was me, I'd want someone to save me, even if that someone was my enemy. And sometimes the dumb thing to do feels like the right thing, no matter what anyone else says.
So mouse, wherever you are, good luck.
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