A Mouse in the House

I used to have this awesome cat named Chicken. She was kind of clumsy and sort of lazy, but that damn cat was such a hunter. Every Spring she'd bring moles, voles, mice and birds into the house, let them loose and chase them around for a few hours. She was a great cat.

I now have a new cat. Herbie. Herbie also loves to bring mice into the house. Only thing is, she lets them go, they run behind a bookcase or the stove and then she forgets about them.

I knew there was a mouse in the house when I got up Friday morning because Herbie was camped out in front of the bookcase. I know she wasn't contemplating which of Tiger's collection of Stephanie Meyer's books to read next. She was waiting. Waiting for the vermin to reappear. Problem is, vermin is patient. And Herbie is not. Soon she was curled up and sleeping on her favorite green chair.

The mouse must have tried to make it's escape some time on Saturday because I heard the scramble of cat paws, followed by the scramble of dog paws on the floor. By the time I got to the living room, both the dog and the cat were sitting and staring at the book case. I moved it, but no mouse showed it's face.

Yesterday I was working out on my Nordic track when I saw a tiny flash out of the corner of my eye that let me know, indeed, the mouse was still lurking in the living room. At least it hadn't made it's way to the kitchen.

After I finished working out, I noticed the dog was sitting and staring up at the window. Somehow the mouse had snuck out from behind the bookcase and crawled up the curtain. It was just hanging out there, near the top. The cat was no where to be seen.

So, I grabbed an old rag, scooped the mouse up in it and brought it outside. Is it wrong that I deposited in front of my neighbor's house? It looked stunned for a moment and then it took off across the lawn. Herbie, of course, has forgotten all about it.