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breeden
ursulav

Nimrod was a mighty hunter before the Lord...

I was poking around, uploading art, and there came a scrabbling thud from the direction of the sliding glass door.

I glanced over, and saw Athena's hind end waving wildly from that direction, which is standard procedure. She sees the birds or the squirrels on the deck, her previous experience On The Importance Of Not Running Into Glass Doors fades from her memory, and she dives for them, only to crack her small, empty skull on the door and staggers back, looking dazed and slightly embarassed. Athena is a good, sweet, highly affectionate little cat, but she is also dumber than a lobotomized rock. I have personally witnessed her getting lost in an open paper bag. Not only is she the dimmest bulb on the Christmas tree, she's one of those ones that flash intermittently when all the other lights are doing a chaser pattern.

I dismissed the thud as yet another non-learning experience in the life of my cat, and was getting back to work when she stalked by, mouth full of...something.

Something pretty big.

"Is that paper?" I asked.

The cat didn't say anything, possibly because her mouth was full, but more probably because she's a cat.

"Drop that, Athena, you shouldn'tOHMYGODIT'SGOTATAIL--"

Athena gave me a haughty look. What kind of moron was I? You don't drop a mouse before you're really, really sure it's dead.

As if to underscore this point, the mouse kicked feebly in her jaws.

"Don't drop it! Don't drop it!" I was having horrified visions of spending my morning chasing an injured mouse around the living room, unsure of whether to administer the Boot of Mercy or whether that would involve a lot of time cleaning the Carpet of Finality afterwards.

Athena gave me another look, that of the professional confronted with hysterical layperson. Of course she wasn't going to drop the mouse. It was a perfectly good mouse. She just had to wait for it to die. The situation was Under Control. Perhaps I should go into the other room and let the pros handle this one. I could boil water if I needed to feel useful.

We formed a small funeral processional through the house, cat, mouse, and I. Athena decided to wander through the kitchen. I followed, armed with paper towels. Athena decided that the mouse wanted to see the bathroom before it expired. I followed. Athena considered a burial in the bed. I vetoed this plan.

"Some cats would bring their kill to their owners as a gesture of affection," I told her.

Athena let it be known that I wasn't nearly that important in her estimation. She liked me, but let's not go nuts. (Now, if James had been home, there'd have been a dead mouse draped over his toes faster than you can say "ARRRGGHHGGGETITOFF!")

Finally, with an air of great satisfaction, Athena spat the mouse onto the rug. I poked it. It had indeed passed this mortal coil, and travelled on to the Great Messy Kitchen in the Sky. I picked it up gingerly with a paper towel, wrapped it well, and disposed of the body.

Athena watched me, every line of her body saying "You gonna eat that? 'Cos if you're not gonna eat that--"

I told her she was a good, fierce, wonderful cat, but not to lick me any time in the next month, mousebreath. Since her previous hunting has largely consisted of small, unfortunate bits of cardboard and one humiliating incident when a grounded firefly chased her across the living room, this was a truly astonishing about-face.

Now, if she could just figure out how to get out of a paper sack...


LOL! Thank you for sharing, that made my day!

HEH! Cats... gotta love.

Hah! Not a great moment for you, I'm sure, but it made my morning...

just goes to show, she might be dumb but the instincts are still working.

My cat never brought me a mouse. But he did eat my scrunchie once. And when he spat the sad soggy remains onto my bedspread, I thought it was a mouse for a couple seconds. I wonder if that counts. *muses*

*dead* *of* *laughing*

I had a cat like that once. Only without the Leet Mighty Hunter Skilz!

(I find that the cats -- the two young boys, who love the toys and have no clue how to kill them except by breaking the toy, which they don't really want to do, because it's a toy, silly -- are good at herding the mice into the open, at which point I slam a bowl over them and set them free outside. Well, except one which got broken before we found it. Did you know mice squeak exactly like the giant field rats in EverQuest, only slightly less loud? First time I heard it, I was saying, "Dear, do you have EQ running?")

*wild applause*

You made my morning!

LOL! The way you described the whole thing...it's really too hilarious! That totally made my day! XD (and yes, i'm still raking my brains for ideas as to how i could get my grubby paws on ur book....been ramblin about it in my journal =__=)

*grin* They do take checks and money orders, if you don't have a credit card...

LOL

My rotund ball of fluff (Buttercup the Magnificent) is quite the opposite. Steven lifted and prepared to fold a stranded blanket in the living room, and something small, fluffy, and gray whizzed out of a fold straight for Buttercup. Just before slamming into her orange stripey hide, the bit of gray did an amazing feat of acrobatics, made a complete 90 degree turn, and disappeared into the gnome closet*.

Steven, rather shell-shocked, stared openmouthed at Buttercup, who began to studiously groom in between her front toes. Every line in her body showed complete and total unconcern for the fact that a probably-rodent just whizzed past her.

"Buttercup, you're a cat. You could at least PRETEND to chase the mouse."

She stopped grooming and looked at him for a moment, as though to say "You want it so bad, YOU go chase it."

* Well, what would YOU call it? the door was in the hallway, and was about knee-high with a tiny doorknob. Obviously it was for the gnomes. *nodnod* What exactly the gnomes did while living in our hallway is uncertain.

I see your mouse and raise you a magically disappearing finch.

Now, for the record, the birds are so high up on a piece a furniture that I have to stand on a chair to reach the cage to feed them/etc. And I have a hell of a time getting the really large cage down to clean it.

Molly used to sit on the kitchen table and just stare up at the cage. And then she started jumping up and *clinging* to the side of cage(!) with her back legs hanging and the birds fluttering around like it was the End of the World. We began to put cardboard over the front and sides of the cage. This solved the issues... no bars to cling to, no getting to the cage. Things were good for a bit.

Then, one morning, Jon wakes me up asking how many birds I have. I was a bit disgruntled at this and snortled "6" at him. He asked "are you sure?" so I rattled off names. After about 10 minutes of him standing in the doorway repeatedly asking if I was sure he told me there were only five in the cage.

Here are the wacky things though: The cardboard was still up and not out of place when Jon moved it. ALL the doors were shut. Shut tight. The bars are less than an inch apart. There was no blood on the cage and no injured/dead bird in the cage. I could see of no possible way Molly (and by this time we had another foster, Audrey, also a hellion but too lazy and fattish to jump that high... she was probably just a backseat driver) got the bird out and no signs that she was killed/eaten through the bars.

But there were feathers in the bedroom.
Not *enough* feathers to come from a completely plucked bird, however.

We looked for two days but never found Vixie or any sign of her.
It was like having Siegfried and Roy in our house. Watch the bird, disappear! The best part was the evil duo following us around the house while we looked... we'd look under something, they'd walk up, crouch down, and look too.

I wonder if they didn't know where she was either. It's our own faults though... having birds, a hamster, and big tank of fish right out there tormenting the kitties...
Poor Vixie. I just hope we don't find an icky corpse somewhere when we finally move(!)

Mine's not funny like yours... but certainly weird.
Thanks for sharing... I guess you should be glad you don't have prey animals around the mighty huntress!

Leona

Good lord. Poor finch!

"The cat didn't say anything, possibly because her mouth was full, but more probably because she's a cat."

"Some cats would bring their kill to their owners as a gesture of affection," I told her.

I had a cat years ago who brought a chipmunk in from outside and released it for us, perhaps thinking that we needed some practice hunting. The cat flap was removed soon after!

MomCat (resident artistic science fiction fan, who I adopted my box turtle from in 1989) said to tell you that Stubby & Tillie -- local Australian Bearded Dragons, disaprove of the amount of loud noises she made* while I was reading your report of Athena's hunting.

I will ply them with radiccio leaves and dandelion flowers later today and it will blow over eventually.

(They look something like this, about 1 1/2 feet long. Really need to get digial camera working to get cute pictures of my pets up on the web site:
http://dragonriddle.net/pogona/ )


Lyndon

* Laughing

As a P.S. IT MADE SENSE AT THE TIME arrived earlier this week and has found an appreciative audience of locals and visitors to Chez Baugh de Sur

*cheer* Glad it arrived safely!

I hope it's okay that I linked to this post in my LJ. I'll take the link down if you mind.

Thanks for a much-needed laugh

Oh, not at all! Link away!

That is awesome. Thank you for sharing that. :D