The Great American Mouse Hunt

We have a semi-occasional event at our house which I have dubbed the “Great American Mouse Hunt”. Now, with two felines on the prowl you might expect that mice would be fairly scarce in our abode. And you would be correct. But it is amazing how many really stupid mice there actually are.

Invariably, these contests are conducted in the middle of the night, and we hadn’t held one for several weeks, so I guess we were due. Right on schedule (at three am) the unmistakable sounds of eight cat paws pounding up and down the stairs, interrupted by increasingly hysterical high-pitched expressions of panic, began. Not a square inch of the house is spared, and despite the disparity in size between the combatants it is perhaps surprising that the event takes so long to be resolved. [I’m actually suspicious that the ultimate goal is not the defeat of the opponent, but rather keeping the action going as long as physically possible.]

I have occasionally lost patience with the endless carnage and put a stop to the proceedings - not only to restore order, but to put the poor rodent out of his misery.

Last night, after about two hours, the din finally subsided and I was able to return to blissful slumber. Sometimes, the prize is elaborately laid out for me to stumble over as soon as I get up, but there was no evidence this morning of all of the nocturnal ruckus - and I was too tired to conduct a search.*

By the way, I have paid the price of loss of sleep at work today, but the cats sleep all day anyway (usually while supervising me in the office), and have been very smug about their triumph. They have each dropped by the office repeatedly to remind me what great hunters they are.

C’est la vie.

* The very next night it became apparent to me why there was no body to stumble over that morning: the poor soul had survived! Only to be spotted the next night - this time with a triumph for the felines. (I think they are actually slipping.)