Around 4:30 this morning Schrodie really started to get on my nerves. She was zipping around the house like crazy; pounding on the wood floors like mad. It wasn’t long before she was in my room scuffling around in my shoes under the vanity. (OK, shoes are meant to be stored in the closet, so now you know I’m a slob.) In a moment of sleepy frustration, I threw the cat out of the room and shut the door then tried to get back to sleep.
But the cat sat out there, pushing her paw under the door trying to get back in. And I ignored her – until I started to hear noises under the bed. Noises that sounded like the cat was playing under the bed (a regular habit). But I put her out… right?
So I think to myself: “Is it possible that there’s a mouse in the house?” Then I realize there can’t be. I’ve not seen any evidence of mice. But then I start to remember it’s harvest season and that’s when the little field mice start to take shelter from the evil combines.
Well, I’m up now. Those noises are not going away and the cat is still desperate to be allowed back in my room. I open the door and in she bolts. She’s reaching her paws under the dresser. She’s trying to get behind the clothes hamper. She’s sniffing around the shoes under the vanity.
And I’m watching her – curious as to what she’s found. Another grasshopper? Another spider? A cricket or a beetle?
Then in happens – the tiniest little grey field mouse sticks its head out from behind the vanity. And the cat goes crazy all over again.
OK, she’s not made the kill yet, but for those who are familiar with Schrodie’s very non-cat-like ways, you’ll know that just the act of stalking a mouse is an advancement in her membership to the Feline Academy.
Here’s hoping my lovely cat has a nice, dead present for me when I return from work.
Go Schrodie, go!