*Warning: a mouse was harmed before the making of this post. It was not harmed intentionally and this might be a little gross for some to stomach, but this my friends is your forewarning as you enter my daily life.
There comes a time in every momma’s life when you can’t help but to say out loud, “that’s my boy.” And this morning was that time for me.
And maybe I should clarify; by boy I mean a cat. And by cat I mean the ten-year old declawed and neutered feline named Roscoe that I adopted a few years back when I got my own place. I should state that I am not a cat person and am constantly reminded of this each and every day; especially when walking into the “surprises” he’s been leaving out in the open on a more frequent basis on the brand spankin’ new kitchen rug.
That being said, the surprise I found this morning and was half-joking about was unlike no other surprise I’ve found before.
First side story: this cat is not lazy, just unmotivated at high speeds. He’s a whopping SOLID seventeen pounds and is yes, on a “diet.” His favorite past times include laying in the bay window to soak up the most sun, drinking out of the toilet bowl, and plopping down on top of the computer when I try to browse the internet in bed. He does not enjoy chasing the occasional bug, unexpected sneezes and me locking him out of the bedroom at night. He knows he’s been a bad boy if I lock him out.
Second side story: this is a new apartment and I’m still getting use to it. The other night, I may have seen a mouse. I can’t confirm the sighting; I thought I saw something move quickly out of the corner of my eye, but then again, it was my right side, the bad side. I’ve never heard anything, never seen any droppings or recall any missing food from the countertops (we all know I like to leave leftovers out).
It all began around four o’clock in the morning when I was woken up by the beau tossing and turning. I politely asked, “why are you awake?” His response, “Roscoe is keeping me up.” I laid there for a moment and heard him moving quickly around the floor, assuming he was chasing one of his ballies (yes, his favorite toy is a ball-y). I half-joked, “maybe he’s chasing that mouse I saw the other night,” and rolled over and fell back to sleep.
The next thing I knew, it was five and I was supposed to be getting out of bed to run. I hit the snooze about ten times and didn’t get out of bed until… I heard crunching coming from the floor. I immediately jumped up thinking he was downing another strand of raffia leftover from my valentine making operation. Nope. When I flicked on my closet light and got down on my hands and knees to see (I didn’t have my glasses on), I found a half eaten baby mousy. I of course gasped and immediately picked the little guy up, realizing he had no tail and was missing a hind leg. Poor little mousy. I did pet his little head and thought a little thought for him and all was calm until the poor little mousy moved! It was reflex. I flopped the poor little guy into the toilet and flushed him; all within a matter of three seconds.
While I was rinsing off my hands, I couldn’t help but to think I just drowned the little mousy. But realistically, someone had to put him out of his misery. And at first I was very upset with Roscoe for eating that poor little mousy alive. But then, but then a wave of proudness came over me: Roscoe is declawed AND seventeen pounds. And he caught the little guy. I couldn’t have been more proud.
Poor Roscoe keeps returning to the scene of the crime, hoping to find his midnight prize. Hopefully this will be the last surprise I wake up to before a morning run and hopefully tonight we’ll all have a good night’s rest.