I did, I did! To be honest I didn’t actually kill it but I was indirectly responsible for its temporary death!
Think I’ve told you that it is mouse season in Melbourne. Every late Spring, early Summer they seem to appear from nowhere. If you are not aware, then I’m here to tell you, that mice breed like “rabbits”. I think they practice all winter long and when the jacaranda blossom appears so do the baby mice. Being a very noble panfur I let them grow until they are at least 5cm long (not including their tails) before I go on safari.
So huMum has been getting a lot of exercise this week as I have produced a mouse a night (except Tuesday). As she is only too familiar with the peculiar miaow I make when my mouth is full, the chase is on before I have a chance to proudly display my catch. To my chagrin I was twice tricked into giving up my live squeaking prey; the third I got bored with and left him in kitchen (see HERE) to be buried by huMum in the green wheelie bin.
So what happed to the fourth mouse? I let huMum chase me up and down the hallway, in and out the study, bedroom, bathroom and even in and out of the “little girl’s room” (whatever that means). For goodness sake I wish humans would call a spade a shovel and their litter tray a toilet or if they are Australian a “dunny” or the “boghole”! I digress. Where were we? Ah that’s right in the middle of the chase. After at least 10 hours oops minutes, I made the mistake of ducking out my cat door and huMum shut the door from the laundry to passage and *wail* I couldn’t get back into the house.
She turned on the garden lights to watch what I got up to with my “mouthful” of mouse but was distracted by the telephone. The next time she checked I was sitting with *innocent ears* at the patio doors paw pointing at my empty mouth (just like my all-time hero “Simon’s Cat”) and miaowing to be let in. Chuckling to myself here as I know I’m annoying the dickens out of you with all this waffling on and never, seemingly, to get to the point of my story. That is why its called a yarn or is that yawn?
The next day Sandy, our delightful cleaning lady, was busily vacuuming and got to the laundry when, from my the top of the garage roof, I heard a huge THWACK and the stereo (on which Pink had been playing) went off as did the vacuum. As Sandy and huMum were muttering a lot I had to come down from my perch to check out what was going on.
Yes *paw punches the air* the vacuum was lying in pieces in the middle of the hall and huMum was telling Sandy “something must have blown it up?”.
I don’t think huMum was very pleased as she had to reset the house power trip-switch and reboot the computer, then carry the dead vacuum to her car. I waved her goodbye from the living room window as she drove out, presumably to the vacuum graveyard
She reappeared about two hours later and I was ever so pleased as it was nearly dinner time. One look at her face told me that I was in deep doo doo yet again and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. Worse still the dreaded vacuum was back! There is nothing more dire than huMum in a bad mood so I tried to appease her with much rubbing of her legs, gentle mews and loud purrs but instead of a pat and a scritch I got sent to the naughty chair! Once ensconced she told me that the vacuum repair man charged her $55 to repair the blown fuse and showed her the cause. Yes! You guessed it, my fourth mouse!
Unbeknownst to huMum, while she was gossiping on the phone the previous night I’d bought the fourth mouse back through my cat door into the laundry but as the door to the passage was so rudely closed I had dropped him and, being a very smart mouse, he’d had taken up residence under the washing machine. Sandy being a very thorough housekeeper had directed the vacuum right to his new home and swooped him up! TWACK!
To all you vacuum fearing cats out there, you now know there is a way to slay them but be prepared for the consequences. HuMum did not get over her sooky mood for at least two hours!
Nap time, bye-bye for now!