The Truth About Cats and Dogs in Black and White

Truth is just one person's reality. Here is mine in black and white (maybe some shades of gray). This blog has little to do with Cats or Dogs - just humourous sarcastic antics about my life or occasionally, someone else's. You know, intercepting volleyballs with my face, egg dropping, etc. The truth has seen some changes and in fluidity with change expect to see more artistic expressions posting up - so give your two cents worth!

Monday, July 17, 2006

Simply Mouse-tastic!

It was a traumatizing evening in the Jilly household. I "have" a new house. Unbeknownst to me, it came with tenants. They are little and fuzzy and grey with scaly tails, and squeaky voices. So going into my third week in the house, and coming off two weeks of insanely sound relaxing sleep-filled nights, the silence is quickly broken by a loud late night clatter. As I peered through the twilighty shadows, I could easily detect the outline of Pablo. Pablo the purebred snobby housecat who in a sudden moment of adrenaline became Pablo, queen of the warrior jungle Persians. She lay crouched in search and destroy mode and I strained my eyes to answer the looming question, why? A sudden scurry of fur across the dark wood floors brought confirmation - a mouse. I had flashbacks to the endless, sleepless bat night and the unsettled nights that followed.

I got up, in the dark, careful watching my foot placement, forgetting my open toed slippers. I turned on the light. The small grey tuft of fur came in to focus, oh wait, I put my glasses on. It was cute yet grimacing and smart, surprisingly brilliant. An expert at the game of "playing dead." But it was no match for Queen of the Jungle Persians. Pablo let her run only to pounce, paralyzing the poor little city mouse from the waist down. Do mice have waists? I cringed to see the mouse scouring about with its two front feet dragging its lifeless body behind it. I felt demoralizing, cruel, evil. I couldn't mobilize to save it, it was too late. If it escaped it would only die a slow death and rot in a wall somewhere. Yet I couldn't take my shoe to it, as was suggested during my panicked distress call to my parents at 1:30 am.

So, I left the Queen to play with her new found toy. No other toys would ever compare. She chased it around. Let it get just far enough ahead. Taking much enjoyment from the little squeaky shrieks that would exude from the toy. I lay in bed waiting for it to be over. Trying to play avoidance, ignorance, detachment. But then it was chased under the bed. And I was alert and contemplating the potential climbing prowess of a paraplegic mouse. After two hours, I witnessed the final convulsions. I knew death drew near and tears ran down my face without permission. It was over yet Pablo still tried to bully a response from his new companion. A meek MEOW followed. What had she done? Why had he stopped his playful scurrying?

Finally, I emerged from in under the covers, put on my slippers, ripped off a piece of a box and retrieved a plastic bag. I swept the lumpy remains into the bag. Pablo meowed at me this time with apprehension and lack of understanding. And then, with great sorrow and guilt, I flushed him down the toilet. The guilt hit even harder in the morning dusk. What if he has a little mouse family? What if they were vindictive? It broke my soft mushy mess of a heart. And I knew I would never be able to kill one. Relocation. The only option.
Unknown 5:37 p.m.
Comments...

Good kitty.

posted by Blogger justacoolcat : 9:35 p.m.  

I had a similar crisis of conscience today when my kittys critically injured a little mouse. I put the mouse outside under a little plant where it could die peacefully instead of letting the cats torture it to death.

posted by Blogger Lhyzz : 2:22 a.m.  


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